


Sleeping Beauty: A Homelandian Fairy Tale

by Crux01



Category: Homeland
Genre: Definitely AU, F/M, Fluffy, Fun, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6104728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crux01/pseuds/Crux01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Homeland meets Sleeping Beauty in a fairy tale to beat them all. Definitely AU and will get very silly!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Crying King

**Author's Note:**

> I can only apologise....I have found where my hubby hid the sherry and this is the result!

Once upon a time in a land far, far away King Adal despaired. He cried himself to sleep on a nightly basis.

For many years he had ruled the Kingdom of Black Ops and in all that time he had longed for a son, a heir, a prince whom could sit on his throne once Adal's time was through. But the years rolled onward and no son arrived. 

Finally in desperation, Adal called the three most powerful wizards in the land, Estes, Lockhart and Berenson to his castle for guidance. These men consulted long and hard over many days. Much shouting and cursing could be heard from the room where they had hidden themselves and eventually they emerged to say they agreed upon a protocol.

Adal implemented their strategy the very same day.

Much to Adal's astonishment and the kingdom's delight, and as the three wise wizards had predicted, nine months later they all happily welcomed the birth of his son, Peter, the Trash Prince. Overcome with joy, Adal proclaimed a holiday for his subjects, the first in years, to pay homage to the prince and celebrate his birth. Even more astoundingly he threw a party, paid for from his own coffers without increasing the already exorbitant taxes on the population and invited guests from throughout the known world.

Security at the party was tight since the enemies of the realm, the frightening, clandestine cult known as the Jihadists had been active for the latter years of Adal's reign. This guerrilla organisation practised black magic and sought to overthrow the government in order to set up their own cali fete where everybody attended dressed as beach bums and took part in home baking, best groomed dog and knobbly knees competitions. Although highly intelligent, they were generally not very nice people, who would cheat in the competitions and tended to get their own way through deviousness or violence. King Adal hated them on principle because they failed to acknowledge his supreme authority.

The birthday party took place in the king's throne room which was decorated with sweet spring flowers and bunting. The baby prince was lain in a golden crib at the foot of Adal's throne. A happy child he giggled with carefree good humour and delighted the crowds with his party trick of sucking his own big toe! All through the realm was a spring-like feeling of hope and wellbeing that was most acutely concentrated at this party. Even the common peasant folk were allowed into a cordoned off section at the bottom of the hall, as long as they wiped their feet on the way in. Arrangements had been made to have it disinfected and fumigated as soon as they left.

Held in the greatest honour amongst the guests were the three wizards who had masterminded the baby prince's conception and they came to bless the child with gifts.

Wizard Lockhart stepped forward first, running his hand through his white hair nervously. "I bring the new prince the gift of sustenance so he will grow up strong enough to fight and defend our beloved Kingdom. I bring lasagne!" He purposefully placed the dish before the crib, mumbling, "Well my wife made it actually!"

Adal snorted. "Donuts would have been better!' He grumbled while indicating for Estes to step forward.

Estes' powerful body was encased in intricately embroidered swirling robes and his voice was as deep as a bottomless pit as he intoned. "I bring no squishy bullshit. I bring the gift of weaponry, his very own drone program for the prince so he can keep our beloved Kingdom safe!" He snapped his fingers and there was a flash and a bang as a golden drone embedded with diamonds appeared to sparkle next to the crib. Polite clapping and a few subdued exclamations of surprise came from the gathered throng.

Adal sighed in disappointment. "Not another ineffective, indiscriminate bombing program that doesn't work!" he groaned.

The greatest wizard in the land, Berenson, stepped forward but before he could say anything there was a massive bang and a retina-scorching flash that quite put Estes' earlier effort to shame. Appearing before them was an evil figure Abu Nazir, a high ranking member of the Jihadists.

Adal sat forward on his throne. "What the...?!" 

Baby Peter started to cry.

"I should have been invited to the party!" Nazir growled angrily. "I am a greater wizard than these idiots and I shall prove it! I curse this prince, spawn of an odious, corrupt megalomaniac, child of my enemy. My people will never give up not until we have overthrown this despot and his evil progeny. Generation after generation shall suffer and die but we are prepared for it. You can starve us and kill us, occupy our holy places but we will never give up until we have won. In front of you all I proclaim that before the sun sets on this child's fortieth birthday, he will breathe of the darkest magic and die."

"Catch him!" Adal screamed. The castle guard surged forwards but there was a further puff of smoke and Nazir was gone, the soldiers left to clutch only empty air.

"What the fucking fuck?" Lockhart muttered.

The joyous atmosphere of the party had been shattered. Baby Peter cried uncontrollably. The crowd muttered their misgivings as the King shivered with pure, volcanic anger burning through his veins.

"Sire," came Berenson's voice of gravel and glue. "I still have my blessing to give."

Adal snorted, desperately trying to regain his composure and appear as calm as the wizard. "And?" he snapped. "Somebody shut the child up!" The wet nurse hurried to lift baby Peter and made gentle, shushing noises.

Berenson sighed. "I do not have the power to remove the curse entirely, but," the wizard ignored the snort of disgust from the King and continued, "I can alter it so that instead of dying, Peter will fall into a deep sleep from which he can only be awakened by true love's first kiss."

"Great," King Adal was not impressed, "Is that really the best you can do?"

Berenson shrugged. "It's better than nothing."

"What the fuck is true love's first kiss anyway? Can't you be more specific as to who will be involved?" Adal snorted. "So I can make strategic decisions!"

"Sire,I ....." Berenson began.

Adal spoke over him, waving his hands in frustration. "Enough! My party is ruined. Clear my hall. I wish to speak to my advisors in private!"

The castle guards roughly removed the rabble from the room. The peasants moaned and groaned and asked from doggy bags so they could take some of the mountains of good food home but eventually only the three wizards remained. 

"Walk with me," Adal ordered and with a swish of his ceremonial robes headed towards the gardens.

"Please, Sire," the wet nurse said. "What about the prince?"

"Look after him!" The King snapped as he disappeared, Estes and Lockhart jostling for position next to him and Berenson bringing up the rear.

"I am fearful for my son's life," Adal disclosed. "I don't believe that we will be able to keep Peter safe, the Jihadists grow too strong. What can you advise me?"

Lockhart stepped forward. "Sire, I believe we should set up a committee to get to the bottom of what has happened."

"A committee?" Adal scoffed. He continued wearily. "How many times do I have to tell you this is a fucking monarchy. A monarchy is a country that is ruled by a monarch such as a king, i.e. me. In an absolute monarchy, the monarch has unlimited power. This is an absolute monarchy. I am the King. I have absolute power. I have divine authority. I make the decisions. What I need is some fucking assistance here."

"Quite right," Estes pushed Lockhart out of the way. "Committees are just a waste of everyone's time. What we need is to nuke the bastards! Find out where every last one of them lives and kill them all!"

Adal shook his head, feeling the pain of a migraine beginning to throb behind his eyes. "We can't kill them, if we can't find them! How many times must you tell me the same things?"

Berenson, who had been standing away from the others, chewing his gum and silently cogitating on how he could benefit from developments, cleared his throat. "The question is how we keep the young prince safe. If we cannot do so here behind the safety of your own walls, Sire, we must find somewhere else."

"But where?" Adal asked.

"Sometimes hiding in plain sight is the best way, Sire."

Adal's face cracked into a grin. "Clever. I like it. Tell me more."

Berenson hesitated. "For this to work as few people as possible should know where the young prince is. I ask that you give him to me and let me take him to a safe haven only I know of."

King Adal bit his lip in consideration. He had waited so long for a son but in truth he didn't really know what he was supposed to do with the mewling bundle with such robust lungs that had arrived to scream down the castle at the most inopportune moments and he certainly couldn't afford to lose him to the Jihadists. Berenson offered a viable child care option that would bring the prince back to him as an adult, ready to learn how to rule the Black Ops kingdom and of course, after Abu Nazir's vile curse had expired. What could possibly go wrong? 

"So be it!" He declared finally and ignoring the complaints from the other two wizards he left to go to his favourite Waffle House.

So it came to pass that baby Peter, the Trash Prince, was taken in the dead of night by Berenson the wisest wizard in the Black Ops Kingdom, deep into the forest to the hut of Bol T Moore, the woodcutter, where he would stay in secret until the day after his fortieth birthday. 

 

To be continued......


	2. Dorks in the Wood

So it came to pass that baby Peter, the Trash Prince, was taken in the dead of night by Berenson the wisest wizard in the Black Ops Kingdom, deep into the forest to the hut of Bol T Moore, the woodcutter, where he should stay in secret until the day after his fortieth birthday.

Years later, Peter, called Quinn by Bol T Moore and everyone else, had grown up into a beautiful, intense young man. He had blue as ice eyes, razor-sharp cheekbones to die for, amazingly cute dimples and all this beauty was framed by a truly great bedroom-hair game. He was tall and fit, and very slim, his limbs long and languid making his movements smooth with the elegant precision of a cat. He was both strongly masculine, dark and brooding, whilst also retaining boyish qualities with a deep and raw vulnerability which he tried to keep deeply hidden.

He spent his time in the forest chopping wood (usually with his shirt off and sweat running tantalisingly along his rippling muscles). He also incessantly practised his skills with his trusted Glock, a present from an unknown benefactor, and he had become a master of many martial arts such as Krav Maga and also Indonesian knife fighting. In short he was working to become an all round badass. After all his commitment, he thought he was pretty tough but he didn't really have anyone to compare with, so he couldn't be sure.

Indeed it was a lonely existence. Bol T Moore rarely took part in conversation, preferring the company of trees and wood animals to humans. Quinn didn't see many other people because he had to stop going into the local villages as, once there, he was inexplicably overwhelmed by the urge to throw himself into any trash receptacle he saw. Understandably this had led to some most embarrassingly ripe situations with the locals. 

Quinn's only friends were Eden, the voluptuous milkmaid who sometimes let him feel her jugs and Julia, the daughter of the local constable, who wanted nothing but to settle down and have a house full of kids, an ambition which, frankly, filled Quinn with dread as he believed not every one was fit to be a parent.

In short, he was a lonely young man who yearned for something, he just didn't know what that something was.

However, he did have another friend, a special friend. Someone who had been with him and looked after him for as long as he could remember, Astrid the Kickass Fairy Queen. But he had long since stopped talking about her to others because they appeared not to see her, just shook their heads knowingly or did a sign against magic when he did. It was Astrid, however, who had introduced and trained Quinn in all of his badass skills. She had nurtured the solitary youth and looked out for him, appearing in a flash of blinding light, sparkling and beautiful, whenever she was needed; she had pulled him from many different trash cans over the years.

One day in the forest his Indonesian knife fighting practise (he did that topless too!) was disturbed by a huge, muscled stranger garbed in beautiful, colourful wizard's robes. 

"Who are you?" Quinn asked suspiciously deciding not to put his knives away immediately. After all the forest was filled with unscrupulous and evil types.

"I am Estes, most powerful and greatest wizard in the whole world!" Responded the stranger, his voice rich and deep with power and presence, though he couldn't quite hide the fact that he eyed Quinn's gleaming, deadly knives nervously.

Quinn regarded him critically. "I thought that was B....."

Estes raised his hand to silence him. "No it's me!" he rumbled menacingly. "I'm the one in charge!"

Quinn shrugged. "Whatever." Deciding he was in no apparent danger, he put away his knives with delicate care.

"And do you know who you are?" Estes asked.

A strange question, Quinn thought, of course he knew who he was! "Quinn, son of Bolt T Moor, the woodcutter."

Estes' gaze turned withering and he shook his head. "No," he said. "You're the guy who kills bad guys."

"I am?" What a great tag line, Quinn thought. He needed to remember it in case he wanted to do some advertising in the future. Because it was true that Quinn had fulfilled a number of contracts to execute certain undesirable people over the past few years but it wasn't supposed to be common knowledge yet. The format was always the same, Quinn picked up his target information from the village post office, did the deed, and then deposited the evidence, normally a quick sketch of the dead victim, back in the box at the post office. He didn't know who put the names in the box, he simply took care of whoever was put there.

"Yes, you are and I have someone I want you to kill." Estes continued.

"Fuck me." Quinn murmured. "Who?"

"Sir Brody the Red."

"The famous Knight, who was taken prisoner by the Jihadists and then released to become a national hero?"

"Glad you keep up with the news even in this dump," Estes beamed patronisingly. "That's the one."

Quinn bit his lip pensively. "But why?"

"He is a traitor. He deserves to die."

 

****************************************************************

 

Meanwhile far away in some deep cave, the Jihadists met for a council of war. All of the members, from Abu Nazir to Majid Javadi, from Haissam Haqqani to Bibi Hamed were there. Many expressed their disappointment at their inability to find Peter, the Trash Prince, but Nazir just sat back on his cushions and smiled knowingly.

"It makes no difference, my brothers," he said. "The curse is unbroken. Whether we find him or not, before his fortieth birthday he will breathe of the darkest magic. All we have to do is follow our plans. We have faithful contacts very close to the King."

Their belief re-invigorated they all returned to their specific duties to ensure that their strategy was successful.

 

******************************************************************

 

Later on that same day Quinn was still practising, this time stripping and cleaning his Glock (with his shirt on unfortunately) and contemplating his conversation with Estes when into the clearing come another three figures. Two men, one balding, the other small and insignificant, both were completely outshone by the beautiful, commanding blonde girl that led them. The moment he set eyes on her Quinn instantly and irrevocably fell in love with her, unaware that she was the daughter of the wizard Berenson who was now not his father's friend. 

"Who are you guys?" Quinn asked, trying to play it cool, ignoring his drumming heart, the squirming sensation in his belly and peeling his eyes away from the vision of beauty before him.

Becoming aware of his presence for the first time, all three tensed and stopped, the girl's hand lingering over the weapon bulging at her shapely hips. "Who the fuck are you?" she asked sharply.

"I'm Quinn, the woodcutter's son."

She screwed up her pretty face in disbelief. "You don't look much like the woodcutter; his muscles are much bigger, his eyes are brown and your countenance is much sharper and paler," she scoffed before remembering her manners. "Carrie," she extended her hand. "Berenson, the wizard's daughter. And these are my trusted sidekicks Virgil and Max."

Quinn closed his amazed mouth that had popped open of its own accord. Everybody had heard of Crazy Carrie, she was a legend in the Black Ops Kingdom, slaying dragons, chasing demons and generally doing exciting, if somewhat dubious missions; just the sort of things he dreamed of doing.

"I like your work," Quinn muttered.

She ran her hand through her golden, perfect hair and looked quizzically at him. Quinn felt himself liquefying under the intensity of her stare. It only got worse as she gave a half smile that caused his legs to wobble precariously. "Sorry," she said. "I'm just frustrated and I get crazy when I'm frustrated!"

"Interesting word crazy," Quinn retorted, holding her gaze, surprising himself that he still sounded relatively coherent under such extreme provocation.

"Hi, I'm Virgil." The balding companion smiled and stepped forward to shake hands while the other one hung back saying nothing.

"We are on a quest," Carrie continued, her eyes frightening with their intensity. "To find Prince Peter, the lost son of King Adal. Do you know where he might be?"

Quinn shook his head. He normally knew all the stories that were floating around the Kingdom as Eden loved a good gossip and took great delight in filling him in but he had never heard anything about this Prince Peter before. Maybe he had missed it while being otherwise engaged with her ample jugs?

Never one for words, he was finding it increasingly difficult to articulate in front of this stunning creature. His mouth dry, he swallowed and managed to get out. "Why is he lost?"

Carrie snorted, clearly annoyed by his ignorance. "Many years ago, just after he was born, he was cursed by evil Jihadists and so the King sent him away to keep him safe. My father was tasked to find him a safe haven and now my father and the King have fallen out, an old marriage ending badly. My father refuses to disclose his whereabouts and has gone off duck hunting with Wizard Lockhart instead."

"Duck hunting? And why would he do that?"

Carrie shrugged. "To piss the King off, of course, that's what he does."

"Wow, two great wizards hunting, if I was a duck I'd be worried!" Quinn was so flustered that he was even rambling his own thinking out loud. He felt himself flush, bit his lip and looked away.

Carrie regarded him strangely and then returning to her hunt nodded solemnly. "Do you know where the Prince might be?"

Quinn, deciding the strong silent type might be more attractive then the dribbling puddle of liquid emotion he was in danger of becoming, dumbly shook his head.

"Fuck!" Carrie cursed. She balled her fist and punched her own thigh in frustration. "I am missing something here, I just know it!" She whirled around dramatically taking in the surroundings and almost knocking Quinn over as he had apparently and completely unconsciously gravitated towards her. They stared at each other for a number of racing heartbeats, Quinn's flush deepening embarrassingly.

Eventually, with great forbearance he found the strength to pull away from her. Quinn squeaked, cleared his throat and then asked, in as manly a fashion as he could, "How will you find him?"

"I'll know it when I meet him," Carrie responded confidently, still scanning the area as if her prey was hiding behind a tree and would break cover at any moment. "I'll know he's a prince. I can tell these things."

"She can," Virgil chimed in. "Carrie is never wrong, never!"

Though he tried to hide it as much as possible, Quinn knew he was looking even more impressed.

Carrie snorted and walked past him as if he wasn't there. "Come on," she said. "We're wasting time here. This moron knows nothing!"

"Moron!" Quinn huffed, his emerging, lustfully budding hope shattering. "I'm not a moron. I'm the guy who kills bad guys!"

Carrie stopped, turned and regarded him with new interest. "You do?"

Quinn smiled as arrogantly as he could muster in his current vulnerable state. "Like that," he confirmed confidently.

Virgil drew in a noisy, surprised breath and Max continued to mute, silently, of course. Quinn stood completely still holding in a trembling breath as Carrie moved closer once more. He could feel the hot wanting squirming deep inside his guts as her appraising eyes travelled up and along his body. Unconsciously he flexed his muscles (while wishing he hadn't been so quick to put his shirt on earlier!) and adopted his most sultry pose, the one that Julia said made him look like a famous warrior knight, although she wasn't specific about which one. He thought he detected a hint of respect in Carrie's eyes but that suspicion was washed away when she snorted and said, "Well, maybe only half a moron!"

She turned away and Quinn felt like the warm, life-affirming sun had gone behind a cloud. "Come on," she repeated to her sidekicks. "We need to get back to Brody."

"Brody?" Quinn muttered, remembering his earlier arrangement with Estes. It was coming back to him now, hadn't Eden said something the last time they were rolling in a haystack together that the latest gossip was Crazy Carrie was shacked up with Sir Brody the Red Knight following the demise of her relationship with Jonas the Wise. Dear Jonas had lived up to his name, realised he could never cope with such a deranged woman, and returned home to his old flame Bear Lynn.

The others were making their way towards the edge of the clearing. "Wait," he called after them, a plan forming in his mind, and any plan that involved being in the company of this woman appeared to be a good one to Quinn; it certainly wasn't his brain that was doing the forward planning for him at this point. "I need to come with you."

Carrie had already disappeared into the wood but Virgil turned back and smiled. "Sure, kid. The more the merrier! I have to tell you there's no chance though."

"No chance?"

Virgil's smile broadened. "I see the way you look at Carrie and it won't happen."

Quinn's shock that this man had so easily read his inner turmoil and emotion was overtaken by the utter disappointment of Virgil's negative assessment. "Why?" he asked miserably. "Because I'm only a woodcutter's son? Because I'm not a knight, I have no money, no prospects, nothing?"

Virgil chuckled heartily. "Christ man, what do you take her for? None of that matters to our Carrie at all."

"Then what?"

"You haven't got red hair!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter ......tag line 'Life is full of disappointments'....Quinn meets Sir Brody the Red Knight! 
> 
> Keep your character suggestions coming, as you can see I have used some already and more to follow!


	3. Aladbin

As they walked through the forest, Carrie in front resolutely leading the way, Virgil filled Quinn in on what as happening in the kingdom. Quinn was loathed to admit his lack of knowledge and that the little he did know was fragmented and confused as it had been gleaned while his attention was elsewhere during rolling in the hay sessions with a certain buxom wench. Virgil was more than happy to hear the sound of his own voice and started from the beginning anyway. 

Apparently King Adal had a new wife, who by all accounts was not liked by the common people. Queen Alison was a former nun of the Order of St Lucia in the nearby Banana Joe Republic but her insatiable taste for luxury made her more suited to the current role of wife of an absolute monarch than self-sacrificing soul saver and devout care giver in a floundering communist state. She was reputed to spend all her time shopping, drinking daiquiris and asking her magic mirror who had the best handbags in all the kingdom. She was also too friendly with her scary, brutal henchman, Ivan the Terrible Accent. Everyone believed they were making a cuckold of Adal but he refused to listen, would accept nothing said against her and in fact had raised taxes again to pay for her hedonistic habits. The people were not happy. Some said she had bewitched their king, others that she was simply taking advantage as he had lost all interest in the kingdom since the loss of his much-longed for son and all he ever did anyway was eat waffles every day and cry.

At around the same time as Queen Alison's appearance, Adal had a blazing row with Berenson, who subsequently refused to disclose the whereabouts of Prince Peter (not that he had ever told him before either). This upset everyone even more, as they all agreed that, if their king had lost his reason, the trash prince needed to be found so he could take his rightful place and stop the evil Queen Alison before she emptied all of the kingdom's coffers on the most ludicrously expensive junk. Everyone conveniently forgot the Jihadist curse which had forced them to hide the prince in the first place.

Everyone except Carrie. At great personal cost, as it was expressly against her father's wishes, but for the greater good of the kingdom, she had accepted the king's begrudging request to find the prince and keep him safe from the Jihadists. However it was not going as well as she had hoped and they were no nearer finding Peter than on the day they started. Basically, growing desperate in her search, Carrie had recently developed a new strategy. She perceived that the Jihadists must be looking for the prince too to enact their terrible curse. She knew the link between Brody and Abu Nazir and was thus probing the Red Knight for information. Quinn caught the wry roll of Virgil's eyebrows on the word 'probing' and, socially inept though he was, thought he understood the unspoken implication.

They stopped at a fork in the road and Virgil and Max agreed to go to the nearest village, Gansa's Folly, to get some food. There was general disagreement as to what sort of food they all liked but they eventually settled on going to the best take-out in the village, Lesli Linka Platters, for Greek, even though nobody really liked it. Quinn pretended he liked olives to impress Carrie but he didn't; she was completely unmoved and he wished he had held out for an Indian.

Before they moved off, Carrie whispered at Virgil. "Who is this guy?"

"Who, Quinn?"

She nodded. "Why have I never met him before? Do me a favour, see what you can find out about him."

"Oh and I'm not busy!" Virgil moaned.

"Just check him out." Carrie ordered.

"OK." Virgil snorted and was still grumbling under his breath as he walked away towards the village. 

Carrie turned back to Quinn and smiled somewhat misleadingly at her new companion.

"Looks like it's just us," he murmured warily.

She shrugged expansively. "I don't have any plans!"

Always ready for any eventuality Quinn had brought along his duct tape and aviator sun glasses and had his swagger mode on full; he cut a cool sexy figure as he followed Carrie's bobbing shapely bottom through the undergrowth towards her cabin in the woods. It was a pity she never turned around to notice.

The cabin was situated by a blue lake, smooth and tranquil, it was a mirror presenting a perfect inverted image of the beautiful woodland that surrounded it. The cabin itself was well-presented and there was a large hut around the back that they passed on their way to the door. Quinn detected the smell of dubious duplicity hanging on the breeze around it and surmised that must be where the wizard did his magical stuff.

They went into the cabin, nicely furnished and homely. Quinn stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the opposite wall. It was covered by a huge map of the Black Ops kingdom. Pins had been stuck into certain points and different coloured strands of wool ran from the pins to notes fixed beside the map. Some notes were just scrawled details of times, places and contact details but others were sketches obviously done at the geographic point indicated on the map. All the pictures were of a young, good-looking man. Quinn could guess who this represented.

"I know what you're thinking," Carrie said, for the first time sounding defensive and a little unsure of herself.

"No you don't." Quinn responded gazing intently at the map. "Prince Peter is the kingdom's most wanted man. You're looking for sightings of him because it's your job."

He looked back over his shoulder at her and they held a long glance. Quinn thought he detected a hint of relief, even trust, in the way she unwaveringly gazed back at him and it made a warm wave of delight wash through him. There was one detail of the sketches that bothered him enormously though."You don't know what he looks like, right?" he asked, chewing his lip as he considered.

"Nobody does," she agreed. "I don't think even my father knows."

Quinn nodded. "So why do you always draw him with ginger hair?"

Carrie's face went scarlet, she looked away, her lower lip quivering and she shrugged dismissively. "I just thought that......" She waved her arms erratically and then snorted. "Look it's just a fucking picture, a representation, OK?"

Quinn gulped awkwardly. He hadn't wanted to make her uncomfortable, quite the opposite, rather he was trying to prove to himself that Virgil's doom laden words of earlier were simply not true. Unfortunately all the evidence was beginning to show him that Virgil's hypothesis about red hair was correct. 

Casting about for more polite conversation, trying to remember what Eden had told him about what young ladies liked to talk about, wishing he had paid more attention to her somewhat mind-numbing advice and not got carried away with other things that appeared to be more important at the time, he vaguely recalled her saying girls liked to talk about themselves and their own lives. Taking this to heart, he fell upon a subject that he thought was both acceptable and interesting. (Remember he had been raised in a woodcutter's hut, with a reticent and distant lumberjack, at one with nature, with no polite company, no social niceties and very little female guidance.)

"You were fucking him, huh?" he asked.

Carrie stiffened as if she had been struck and stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"Brody," Quinn continued, knowing from her reaction he had made a wrong choice, but unable to stop himself because he was genuinely interested.

"Who are you fucking?" Carrie snapped back belligerently.

Eager to show he was relaxed with the subject he responded, "A milkmaid but I'm not that into her." Carrie's eyebrows went skyward, and he suddenly felt guilty about bad-mouthing Eden who had only ever done nice things for him, so he continued more wistfully with. "She does have nice jugs though."

"You're pretty mouthy for a woodcutter's son," Carrie scoffed.

"I'm just saying if he did to me what he did to you, then I'd rip his fucking skin off."

"Well that's the plan!" Carrie pushed past him irritably. "Where the hell are Virgil and Max?" she muttered trying to change the subject. "I'm starving."

Shit, Quinn thought, what did I do wrong? This sweet-talking a young lady was not as easy as he had thought and part of him was beginning to believe he should maybe just give it up and go back to his old lonely but less stressful life of Krav Maga and Indonesian knife fighting.

His miserable, insecure thoughts were interrupted by a deeply profound voice coming from the front door. "Carrie, I'm home!" And moments later the Wizard Berenson entered the room like a hungry bear; all scowl and fur.

Indifferent to the looming threat, Carrie threw her father a withering glance. "How was the duck hunting?"

"Fucking awful!" Berenson answered. "Lockhart informed me that the King has chosen him as top wizard in the whole Black Ops Kingdom. After all I have done. I have never been so fucking insulted!"

"You know why he's done it. Why don't you just tell him where Prince Peter is?" Carrie retorted unsympathetically.

"Because I don't know!" Berenson snorted. "Carrie, you are the smartest and dumbest fucking person I've ever known! You know why I can't tell him even if I did know, which I obviously don't, I would lose the only negotiating point I have, information is power." he growled. "And I wish you would stop helping him!"

"I am duty bound to help him; he's the king for god sake!" Carrie flicked her hair nonchalantly. "Anyway, we have a guest." 

"We do?"

"Yes, this is Quinn." Carrie turned to where Quinn had been standing moments before but the space was now empty. "Where did he go?" she muttered glancing around the room in puzzlement.

There was a strange rustling noise from the kitchen area. Berenson and his daughter exchanged curious looks and then moved through the door.

"Unbelievable," Berenson breathed at the peculiar sight that reached them as they entered the room.

Quinn was kneeling on the floor, his head stuffed into the small trash bin attached to a cabinet door, looking like he was trying to force the rest of his body into it.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Carrie demanded.

Quinn stiffened at her voice and bolted upright, banging his head hard on the work surface above. He stood, eyes wild and wide, swaying slightly, rubbing the back of his head, a piece of orange rind dangling fetchingly in his hair. "I ....eh....I.." he stuttered but words wouldn't come, his mind was in turmoil - shit, shit, shit, why did this always happen to him? Why couldn't he control this stupid urge? If only he hadn't caught sight of the trash can when the wizard had entered the room.

"What the fuck?" Carrie repeated, slowly shaking her head in disbelief.

Berenson stepped forward, clasping hold of Quinn's hand in an overly friendly gesture. "You must be Quinn the woodcutter's son!" he grinned cheerfully.

"Yes, yes I am." Quinn still looked a little dazed but had finally managed to come up with a story. "Sorry about that I thought I saw a rat...."

"A rat? In my kitchen?" Carrie cut in sharply, "Where?"

"Yes, I....."

"Don't worry son," Berenson cut him off before he could babble any more impromptu nonsense. The wizard seemed genuinely concerned about him which unnerved Quinn tremendously - all through his life nobody had ever been bothered about his welfare except Kickass Fairy Queen Astrid and she didn't count, not really. To his horror, Berenson even put his arm around Quinn's shoulder and started to slowly walk him back towards the living area. "I am so glad you are here."

"You are?"

"Yes indeed. I have heard you are a man of many talents."

"I am?"

"He is?" Carrie was following behind, intrigued by her father's strange behaviour which had quite swept Quinn's, the bin and the alleged rat straight from of her mind.

"Oh yes," Berenson's smile widened and the predatory twinkle in his eyes sent alarm bells clanging through Quinn's head. "I think we can be of mutual benefit to each other. I'm inviting you into an ongoing operation. Mine and Carrie's."

At that moment Virgil and Max arrived with the food and Quinn's attention was taken by the sheer physical torture of having to force down a great number of unpalatable olives. Carrie still wasn't impressed. He really wished they'd had Indian instead.


	4. The Prince and the Pea

Berenson compelled Quinn to stay the night in the lakeside cabin. He even made up a bed for him in the guest bedroom, a massive affair with so many mattresses that Quinn needed a ladder to climb into it. It was all very strange and far different from the spartan but familiar corner of floor covered with straw he was used to in Bol T Moor's hut.

Sleep wouldn't come to the young assassin. He lay awake, tossing and turning, wondering why that might be. Was it his constant fear that he would roll over, fall out of bed and break his neck? Or at least get a nose bleed from the altitude. Or maybe his close proximity to the wizard and his dubious arts; Quinn really didn't like the shrewd, conniving way Berenson seemed to look at him. Or could it be that beautiful, sweet Carrie was in the next room? Quinn wondered whether she went to bed naked, he thought about her lovely, pale as porcelain skin, dreamed about how soft and warm it would be, fantasised about running his calloused, son of a woodcutter's hands, along her neck, down to her....... 

........Motherfucker! He needed to stop thinking! Was there any wonder he couldn't sleep? 

Groaning in desperation he rolled over. Christ this bed was fucking uncomfortable! It felt like there was a dagger digging into the base of his spine. Who'd have thought that luxury like this would ultimately be less satisfying than the simple, free comforts he had enjoyed in his life up to this point?

Lying awake in the darkness of a silent cabin, his assassin's senses suddenly went into overdrive. He lay perfectly still, ears straining in the dark, eager to pick up further evidence that something was not right. There it was again, the sound of a window being opened carefully, but not well enough to mask the telltale squeak of the hinges, a strange clinking noise and then a very low, male voice cursing quietly.

Quinn sat bolt upright, moved to the edge of the bed and, muscles straining, gently lowered himself from the high mattresses down to the cold stone floor that seemed miles below. He grabbed one of his knives, and with the smooth stealth of a cat, moved to the hall way. The house was pitch black as only a house in a fairy tale can be, but Quinn could tell that the erroneous noise was coming from Carrie's room. Silently he eased his way along the corridor and gently opened the door to her bedroom. 

Careful not to be silhouetted against the doorway by the silver moonlight that leached into the room through the now open window, he peered into the darkness and became aware of an ominous shape moving towards Carrie's bed. Quinn took a deep breath and, knife in hand, launched himself at the strange figure.

As he hit and they fell to the floor with a bone-shattering crash, loud enough to wake everyone within a radius of ten miles, Quinn realised he had made a mistake. As an assassin he prided himself on making intricate plans before going into action, ensuring everything was foolproof and then executed with precise and silent finesse. This acting on impulse without any prior planning or thinking, if not exactly alien to him, was certainly not his forte. Added to that was the fact that his cold, hard landing was on top of a man who was obviously wearing full body armour which dug into all of Quinn's exposed places and painfully knocked the breath from his lungs. Quinn knew he was vulnerable and in trouble.

Momentarily weakened as he gasped to find some breath, Quinn was thrown on to his back by his opponent, his head hitting the wooden floor with a painful bang. Then the dark figure was on top of him, hands grasping hold of Quinn's throat, as white stars burst into his watering vision, empty lungs vainly seeking to refill with oxygen.

Light suddenly bathed the room and, past the desperate throb of his straining heart banging in his ears, Quinn thought he could make out Carrie calling at them to stop and Berenson's deeper voice shouting commands but the hands around his throat were not letting go. He tried to get a hold on his opponent but his hot and slick skin slipped uselessly along the rigid icy metal of the armour.

Desperately, his brain scarlet and screaming, Quinn tried to think. He still had the dagger in his hand but it was next to useless against body armour and he couldn't use it anyway not until he could get out of this choke hold. Made strong through his desperation, he lifted his knee, jamming it with precise but brutal force into the small of the back of his assailant. Naked flesh hitting unyielding metal hurt like hell but it had the required affect as his opponent fell forward with a groan, his hands letting go of Quinn's neck. Instantly cool, sweet air rushed into Quinn's quivering lungs. He gulped at it with relief while forcing himself to his feet. 

More people were in the room now, Max and Virgil, trying to help and Quinn saw his assailant's face for the first time as he, awkward in his heavy armour, climbed noisily to his feet and turned to face him; arrogant, squinting eyes, mouth creased into a furiously twitching scowl, sweat running in sticky rivers along his flushed face, breathing heavily and........red hair. It only took a second to register in Quinn's re-oxygenated mind. So this was the infamous Sir Brody, the Red Knight.

"What the fuck?" Carrie asked. She stood in her flimsy lace nightdress (that answered Quinn's musing question of earlier) the not-so-calm woman in the tense, testosteronely fuelled atmosphere. Her voice was strangely husky and her eyes flashed with deep interest as they leapt from one fighter to the other and back again.

Brody snorted belligerently. "I forgot my fucking key," he said and then throwing a derisory stare at Quinn said. "This little fucker jumped me. What is he, your new guard dog?"

Quinn pulled himself back from luxuriating in the overwhelming happiness which seemed to wash uncontrollably through him every time Carrie's eyes rested on his body. A body that was reacting to her appraising glance in its own upstanding and appreciative way. He knew he needed to focus, knew he should give up, should put down his knife, apologise. He was a guest in this house, he shouldn't be sneaking around after midnight attacking people even if they had climbed in through a window. But something stopped him. Something in the way Sir Brody looked at him with complete distain and superiority caused Quinn's self control to shatter. Even though everyone was expecting him to surrender, even though he knew he should, Quinn could not help himself, he went for the only part of Brody unprotected by the armour and, taking his arrogant foe by surprise by the sheer absurdity of his attack, buried his knife deep into Brody's outstretched hand.

Brody screeched like a five year old girl.

"That jog your memory, fucking asshole?" Quinn screamed furiously.

Brody continued to howl like an injured dog, pathetically.

"Fucking Christ!" Carrie cried, her surprise reflected in the eyes of everyone else. Max and Virgil belatedly rushed forward, each grabbing Quinn by the arms and pulling him away. As he was still holding his knife, it wrenched out of Brody's hand and described a perfect arc of crimson blood through the air.

Brody mewled like a baby.

"Get the fuck off of me!" Quinn was shuddering with an inexplicable fiery rage that flamed outwards from deep inside. He tried to shake his captors off but they hung on tightly to his sleek, slippery arms, steadfastly resolute, holding him back.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Carrie glared at Quinn and she stepped in front of Brody as if to protect him.

Quinn's fury quickly burned itself out when faced by Carrie and he suddenly felt the urge to justify himself, to her at least. "Jesus Christ, what sort of half an idiot sneaks in through the window in full armour in the middle of the night?" he muttered.

Brody nursing his bleeding hand lovingly and groaning in a most unmanly way managed to find the strength to leer. "What can I say? She likes to strip it off me. Very slowly!" He said rolling his eyebrows suggestively as he provocatively teased each syllable, and stared challengingly at Quinn.

Anger taking hold again, Quinn tried to rush at him but he was held tightly by Virgil and Max. Carrie's face flushed and she looked away, eyes moist.

"That's enough!" Berenson's authoritative voice boomed through the room, shredding apart the lingering violence that still hung on the air, calming the atmosphere instantly. "We need to sleep. Quinn, come with me. Good night everyone else." With a dramatic swirl of his cloak he was gone.

Virgil and Max let go of Quinn who went to straighten his shirt in an act of cool defiance but then realised he wasn't wearing one, in fact he wasn't wearing anything at all!

Carrie too seemed to finally acknowledge his nakedness at that moment, her eyes following the well contoured ripples of his muscles, the delicate precision of his pectorals, the tight bulging six pack of his stomach and carrying on downwards. She licked her lips hungrily and she couldn't contain a glint of admiration in her eye but much to Quinn's disappointment, instead of voicing it, she quashed it and snorted, "Quinn, right in front of me?"

"What like you never seen a dick before?" He shot back, irrepressibly preening like a peacock who instinctively knows his full-on mesmerising plumage is by far the best in the park. Quinn had never been taught to be embarrassed or shy about his body in Bol T Moor's hut and, through the sheer strength of his virile confidence. he impressively maintained his dignity where other men would have faltered. Ignoring the pathetic snigger coming from Brody, he pulled himself to his full height and switched on his best swagger to proudly follow Berenson out of the room. He just knew Carrie couldn't take her eyes off his retreating pert butt.

"Do you always fight fully armoured knights naked?" Berenson asked as Quinn pulled on a bath robe and sat where the wizard indicated, shivering slightly as the adrenaline left his system. They had gone back to the guest bedroom.

"I thought he was going to hurt Carrie so I...." Quinn couldn't think of anything else to say so he shrugged and let the sentence drift.

"Still, can't be a great strategy for a man in your chosen profession!" Berenson smiled, a tight omniscient smile that made Quinn even more ill-at-ease than previously. "It's all right," the older man said as he saw Quinn go rigid with disquiet. "I know exactly what you are."

"You do?"

"How was the bed? It's an old tradition in these parts to build up the mattresses, the more there are, the more highly we think of our guest." Berenson's eyes were twinkling, cunningly bright but unreadable in the candlelight.

"Really?" Quinn replied. "Well, sorry but it was the most uncomfortable bed I have ever slept in. There was something sharp sticking into the base of my spine. That's why I was awake when..... when I...."

"When your assassin's instincts took over?" Berenson chuckled knowingly. "Don't worry, boy, all your secrets are safe with me. As I told you earlier I think we can work together, help each other out."

"You still want to associate with me after I grumble about your hospitality and attack your guests?"

Berenson snorted. "Brody is not my guest, far from it. He is work, an asset and an unreliable one at that. He deserves a lot worse than a knife through his hand but Carrie will sort it out."

There was suddenly a loud thump on the wall that separated the guest room with Carrie's bedroom and then another and another until it was a base rhythm accompanied by loud, gasping and moaning noises.

"What the fuck?" Quinn stood up, aware of what he was hearing, of what was going on in the room next to them and suddenly agitated beyond words, every nerve in his body was sparking jealous anger through him, every hair standing on end in outrageous indignation. 

He had to stop this! He turned towards the door.

"Wait. After you stabbed him and pissed him off, you have got to give Carrie a chance. She is turning it around!" Berenson clearly reading his thoughts, knew his intention and was unbelievably calm and unconcerned about the whole thing which made Quinn even more tense.

"Turning it around? Is that what you think is going on there, really?" Quinn ran a shaking, neurotic hand through his hair as the blood in his veins began to boil dangerously. "Turning it around!" He paced anxiously, clenching and unclenching his fists obsessively, eyes lingering with raw longing on the ensanguined knife he had discarded on the table. "No tell me, really, I'd like your expert opinion, is that somebody tuning it around or is that a stage five delusional getting laid?" Despite himself, along with the seemingly irrational anger, Quinn could feel his own arousal stirring below his bathrobe at the thought of what he had just voiced.

"I'm telling you she can fix this." Berenson continued, still apparently unmoved by what was happening in the next room. "All she's asking for is time. Give her some."

Quinn pulled in a ragged breath, his eyes flashing manically around the room where dark shadows lurked frighteningly in the corners. He could not believe this was happening, not to him, having to listen to the woman he loved......he stopped the thought, gulped it away, wishing he had stayed at the woodcutter's hut, remained oblivious to these strange games these mad people played. But what could he do? He was here now.

"OK," he finally breathed.

Berenson's conceited smile returned. "Good," he beamed. "Now get some sleep. We have a long walk in the morning."

"A long walk?"

"Yes. We're going to the King's Castle."

Quinn gulped again, "The King?" he repeated. "But......"

"Don't worry, you'll fit right in!" Berenson patted him on the back in a fatherly fashion. 

After he left, Quinn, foregoing the tortures of the bed, pulled a blanket around himself, lay down miserably on the floor by the fire and tried to sleep but it was too difficult. Whatever flaws Sir Brody the Red may have, being quiet and reserved, even when injured with a stabbed hand, was certainly not one of them!

 

**********************************************************

 

The following morning, before they left the cabin, Carrie sought Quinn out. "You came to help me last night when you thought I was in trouble. It meant a lot," she said.

Quinn stared at her for a long time, the muscle on the side of his jaw flicking nervously as he tried to make sense of the emotions that were threatening to overcome him, tried to find the words he needed to say. "What you put yourself through, it's fucking incredible," he finally managed to articulate.

They stood, silent, staring at each other for long moments and then Carrie was pulled away by Brody's voice calling her to say farewell to him. Quinn watched her leave, wondering if it would always be that way.

Now, as they walked through the village Quinn was not too impressed with Gansa's Folly. He had only ventured here a couple of times in the past and had been forced to leave almost immediately due to, what Kick Ass Fairy Queen Astrid supportively termed, 'garbage situations beyond his control'. As he walked down the main street keeping his eyes fixed on the impressive walls of the King's Castle looming up in the distance in front of him, he prayed a similar situation did not occur again. He mustn't see any dumpsters. His previous mishap had not been remarked on by Carrie, and he was beginning to believe he may have got away with it but if he did it again, he knew he wouldn't be able to find the words to talk his way out of it. An uncomfortable cold shiver ran down his spine, a sure sign that danger was near. He knew he couldn't afford to relax, not here. Indeed he found the village completely alien; too ambiguous, coveting too many awards and too concerned about what the critics thought of it for its own good.

Pushing his feeling of impending doom away, his mind shifted back to Carrie, as it seemed to regularly do nowadays. Quinn shuddered as he remembered the deep despairing, empty chasm that splintered through his consciousness every time she walked away from him. He knew that he had to do something to make her notice him, to make her forget goddamn Sir Brody the fucking Red.

"Where did he go?" Carrie suddenly asked, wheeling around in the centre of the street.

"Who?" Berenson asked.

"Quinn, he was right here!"

The wizard groaned. "Not again!" He muttered under his breath. "Find him quickly!"

"Over there." Virgil called from where he was bringing up the rear. "He's a slippery bastard but I saw him dart into that Alchemy shop."

Berenson entered the shop, close behind his daughter, expecting the worst but was pleasantly surprised to see Quinn standing quietly by the counter in deep conversation with the alchemist who was reaching across and running his hands longingly through Quinn's exquisite bedroom hair game.

".....you will have to bleach all the colour out, take it right back and then add a red dye after that. It should take then. Shame to do it though, you have a lovely head of hair there!"

"Quinn?" Carrie called.

The young assassin stiffened and stepped away from the counter, leaving the alchemist's hand hanging, bereft, in the air. Quinn flushed in embarrassment, bit his lip nervously and searching for words, mumbled, "Oh hi. I...."

Thankfully the rest of his somewhat garbled and inane explanation was completely drowned by a startling, ear splitting and yet strangely uplifting, shrill trumpet fanfare from outside.

"Quickly!" Carrie said excitedly. "The King's coming. Come on!"

"Shit." Berenson cursed. "Not now!"

"Whatever you say, Carrie," Quinn muttered with more than a little apprehension, he followed Carrie out into the bright sunlight.

A line of king's soldiers had appeared during their short absence in the shop. They were ushering citizens off the street and then forming a protective line along the side of the road. Behind them a few people lingered in curiosity but most went about their daily business ignoring the pomp and circumstance with practised indifference. Clearly the people of Gansa's Folly were not overly impressed by their monarch.

At the end of the street coming from the bridge over the moat from the castle was a procession of shiny spears held high and gleaming in the pleasant late morning sun with gaudy coloured flags rippling above in the gentle breeze. As the entourage neared brightly uniformed mounted guards on prancing proud horses and immaculate carriages could be picked out; Queen Alison loved to put on a show of ostentatious wealth like nothing else.

"Here he comes!" Carrie said. "I'll introduce you to him right now."

"Carrie, I don't think that's such a good idea," Berenson replied and for once Quinn fully agreed with him. He really didn't want to meet the King, not in any circumstances but especially not today.

Carrie being Carrie was not listening; having had the idea she was now riding her impulse wherever it may take her.

"He's only coming out to tell us he's putting up taxes again," muttered the world weary alchemist who had followed them out of his shop to see what all the fuss was about and on the off chance he might get to feel that young man's beautiful head of hair one more time. "And that evil new wife of his," he continued. "Do you know she wears a wig and a not very good one at that!"

"Carrie!" Berenson snapped but she was oblivious, slipping between the cordon of guards, running down the street towards the King's retinue, waving her hands to attract attention. "Very well you leave me no choice!" the wizard muttered. Swirling his cloak in a dangerously sorcerous fashion, he strode up to the nearest officer in charge of the soldiers. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, Sir," the soldier responded haughtily. "You're Berenson the Wizard."

Berenson nodded in earnest. "Yes I am. And I am here to tell you that the King is in grave danger. Arrest this man!" He ordered pointing at Quinn who was loitering somewhat guiltily, it has to be said, on the sidewalk. "He's an assassin come to kill the King!"

"What?" Quinn was incredulous but before he could contemplate an escape, he found himself apprehended and thrust on his knees into the dirt of the road by strong hands that proceeded to hold him, while another pair relieved him of all the weapons he had secreted about his person, which, due to his profession, was a suspiciously large amount.

By the time the King arrived to look sneeringly down his nose at his estranged wizard and then signal with a disgusted flick of his hand to his carriage driver to move on, Quinn had already been hauled off to join the rats and the kingdom's most unfortunate outlaws rotting in the castle dungeons.

 

 

 

 

.


	5. The Not a Knight's Tale

"So, you are an assassin? Here to kill the King?"

Quinn was coming back to consciousness slowly, blinking blindly as the world swam before him with a nauseous liquid motion. A slap, hard and sore across his face, rocked his head back. He wasn't sure whether this strategy was hindering his awakening, it surely wasn't helping it. He tasted the sharp metallic tang of blood leaking into his mouth from a cut to his gum.

His vision finally settled on a swarthy, handsome face, only inches from his own, intelligent dark eyes forensically dissecting into him and mouth moving, words coming, but difficult to understand, a foreign accent that only gave meaning in retrospect. Quinn tried to move but he was held securely, arms pressed to his sides, and legs crossed before him, all sealed with the best quality duct tape. His mouth was arid as the desert, seemingly made drier by the trickle of tart blood, he tried to swallow but couldn't, couldn't even move his head to look about him. His world consisted only of the curious, dark face regarding him so close.

Quinn shuddered.

On seeing his discomfort the alien face drew back a little. "Ah, so now you are with me," he said with a humourless smile. "Good. Now we can get to know each other a little better."

Quinn spat out a clot of blood, ignoring the throbbing pain that seared through his temples at the movement, and glared at his captor with all the contempt he could muster, which to be honest wasn't much in his current state.

"So were you going to kill the King?"

Quinn snorted.

"Many people would be pleased and supportive of such an action." Quinn's eyes widened at this obvious treason being spoken so openly but said nothing. "I, myself, have much cause for complaint," the man continued. He moved to a small jug on the floor of the cell, the fluidity of his movement spoke of physical strength and well-tuned muscles but was overlaid by an air of melancholy that was almost tangible. Quinn noted this man was dressed in strangely cut but obviously once fine clothes that were faded and filthy, their previous grandeur sullied and lost which only accentuated the sadness that surrounded him as he bent and filled a small cup. "But I get ahead of myself," the stranger said, his back to Quinn and as he turned to look at him once more, he continued in a voice strangely lacking in lustre. "I am Aasar Khan't. As you have probably gathered, I am not from these parts."

He moved back to stand in front of Quinn, roughly hewn cup in hand, and continued proudly, "I am the seventeenth son of Yess-I-Khan and I was born for greatness!" 

"Seventeenth?" Quinn couldn't help but mutter, his voice gruffly dry, as the picture of a rowdy army of children fighting at the dinner table popped into his mind. (He had no personal experience of family dinner times and over the years had built a theory in his own head that such an activity was the epitome of a wholesome family life - sometimes ignorance is truly bliss!)

"So you can talk," Aasar said as he offered the cup to Quinn. Quinn thought about playing macho and refusing the drink but he was really very thirsty and his throat hurt a lot so he accepted. The water was tepid, and tasteless and stale and probably the best he had ever drunk.

"Thank you," he said hoarsely.

Aasar stared at him for a long time, his prying glare running over every inch of Quinn's face, so intense that the young assassin could almost feel it, coming to rest with blazing power on his eyes. Aasar lingered as if searching for something valuable and then with a satisfied grunt he stepped away again.

"Are you a Jihadist?" Quinn asked finally, when the heavy burden of the silence pressing down on the cell was too much even for him, a man who preferred to live his life in the quiet moments between words.

Aasar stiffened. "No, I am not. My people have fought such terrorist scum for centuries even when yours were creeping around the forest, living on berries and digging pathetically with sticks in the ground."

Quinn grimaced. "I'm still doing that, well not all the time and not always with a stick, I have a spade but....." He shrugged with a charming boyish naivety.

Aasar smiled at the self effacing honesty revealed in the answer and this time there was a warmth there that had previously been missing. "I think, maybe you are a good man," he pronounced. "I think maybe you are the one I have been waiting for."

Quinn gulped, a sense of dread budding deep inside him. He had always felt extremely uncomfortable when people started talking about fate and expectation. "Waiting for?"

"It was written in my stars that I should travel far to find my greatness, so I took the opportunity to come here on a Knight Exchange program, hoping for glory in battle but all I found was obstructions. No, I can't fight in the lists because I am not a true knight ordained by the King, no I can't become a true knight because I have not been to Knight School, no, I am not born of this country, so I can't go to Knight School. No, I am not a knight!" Aasar drew in a forlorn breath. "You people are lost in obsolete tradition that I cannot change. I cannot fight so I have had to take the job here as prison gaoler and I have changed my name to Aasar Khan't, since it is true that I cannot do anything."

"Well I don't believe in fate or destiny or horoscopes and I'm sorry that your exchange trip hasn't lived up to your expectations but if it's really this bad, why don't you just go home?" Quinn asked.

"And show them I am a failure? No, a seventeenth son must achieve true greatness to be remembered. Better I rot here in bitter anonymity than go home to ridicule and scorn. So I wait, wait for something miraculous to happen and maybe that is you."

"Me? I'm just Quinn, the woodcutter's son. Nobody should be waiting for me, I fuck everything up."

"Everything?"

Quinn nodded. "I'm here aren't I?" He tried to lift his arms, still securely duct taped to his sides, to show his desperate situation more graphically but failed.

Aasar snorted and turned away. "But you weren't going to kill the King, were you?"

"Does it matter now?"

"Of course it matters. I saw the collection of weapons they took off you when you were arrested. Impressive. You are an assassin are you not?"

"I'm just a guy who kills bad guys," Quinn disclosed with a bleak shrug.

Aasar snorted. "But you know the sweet Lady Carrie, do you not? I have seen her around the castle. She is a fair maiden, brave and loyal and would not trust you if you were intent on doing harm to the King. It is a pity that she lusts after that arrogant ginger swine, Sir Brody. It was on his advice that they used their stupid rules to stop me from fighting. I believe he is a bully and a coward and a traitor."

Quinn nodded vigorously ignoring the pain still lurking in his head, agreeing whole-heartedly with Aasar's assessment of Brody. He also saw an opening, and managed to pull together a little enthusiasm. "Know her? I'm her Chief of Support!" So he stretched the truth a little too far but he decided to go with it anyway. "I don't suppose you would let me go? So I can go support her. Could you, please?"

"Chief of Support?" Aasar shook his head disappointedly, "I thought we were going to have an honest conversation. Maybe you were not going to kill the King but you're still an assassin and my superiors have issued a kill order here. Do you know what that means - it's your head or mine."

Quinn drew in a long breath, trying to ignore the headache thickening his mind, trying to think clearly. "But if you don't let me go you will never know whether I am 'the one' that you're waiting for"

"All is written. What comes to pass shall come to pass," intoned Aasar prophetically. "Besides, I believe the Wizard Berenson wants to talk to you."

Anger flashed across Quinn's face. "Bastard," he muttered. "I want to talk to him too!"

 

**********************************************************

 

"See, I just feel like I'm missing something," Carrie moaned. "There is something here I should be seeing!" She ran her hand through her hair neurotically, pacing up and down on the same spot of floor.

"Yes, dear," Berenson replied absently. "You should maybe go out and see what is happening outside, what you are missing.

Carrie snorted.

"He wasn't going to kill the King, was he?"

"Who, dear?"

"Quinn, of course! Are you even listening to me?" she scoffed.

Berenson sighed. "Not really." He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes tiredly. "I need some time to think, alone."

Carrie hesitated, as if to complain further, but then shrugged. "OK, I get it," she said. "Sorry to intrude into your oh-so-important time. I am only your daughter after all!"

Berenson was rapidly losing his temper. "Yes, you are and to be honest I wish you were more like Maggie! Why don't you settle down, get a good profession, start a family?"

"Maybe I should come off my meds," Carrie pondered aloud.

"Jesus Christ, Carrie, not that!" Berenson pleaded. "You'll have every male with ginger hair in the kingdom running for the hills, again!"

Carrie stared at him, her lower lip quivering dangerously. After a few seconds she managed to pull herself together. "You know it's my condition," she growled at him. Then with tremendous dignity she turned away. "Max, Virgil come on. Let's see if we can break him out!"

"Who?" Virgil asked mildly from where he set at the bar playing chess with himself. Max snoozing beside him, stood up with a grunt as if conditioned do so at the sound of his own name.

"Quinn, for god sake!" She was still muttering bad-temperedly as she left the room, her two fateful sidekicks shadowing her every step.

Finally the Wizard Berenson sat alone in the back room of his favourite tavern, the False Glimmer, and had the chance to review the situation. This was where he came to plan and think. Unfortunately too many people were aware of his habit and he was very rarely alone long enough to achieve anything of any substance. Recently things had not gone quite according to his plan, but he was nothing if not adaptable, he just needed time to think his options through. What he didn't need was more interruptions but that is exactly what he got, as with a swish of silken robes and the overpowering scent of cheap cologne trying but failing to mask severe body odour, the Wizard Estes sat down opposite him.

Never one for useless salutations he growled, "Just what the fuck is going on, Berenson?"

Berenson slowly lifted his whisky and drank it with a long luxurious slurp, feeling it's peaty warmth as it travelled all the way to his stomach. Only when the lingering heat had faded from his guts did he replace his glasses on his nose and look across to his expectant colleague and say innocently, "Nothing."

Estes snorted. "You heard about Lockhart? Fucking top wizard!"

"Oh, I heard." Berenson's voice was tired.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

Berenson ran his hand through his unruly grey hair. "Nothing."

Estes sat back, regarding him, clinically. "You're full of fucking negativity today," he snorted.

"What do you know about Quinn, the woodcutter's son?" Berenson asked, suddenly leaning forwards, eyes bright as a curious child's.

Estes stiffened noticeably and looked away, momentarily thrown by the complete change of subject. "Who?" 

Berenson's eyes flashed dangerously in the dim light. "Don't fuck with me, Estes," he warned. "Quinn, the woodcutter's son, what do you know about him?"

Estes suddenly became interested in an imaginary stain that appeared on his robe, he rubbed at it and licked his lips nervously. "OK," he relented. "Brody has out served his usefulness. I want him gone, so I sent a guy." He shook his head vehemently. "This is all going to shit and if I dupe the King again he'll fire me in five seconds."

Berenson grunted. "If he finds out your sent an inexperienced boy who failed to do your dirty work he'll fire you in three!"

Estes sighed heavily. "I'm cooked either way! I'm done!" He stood up and stepped away, robes rustling robustly. "But inexperienced boy, no." He shook his head. "I've had an arrangement with Quinn for years. He's good."

"So good he's rotting to the castle dungeons!"

"For which I have you to thank!" Estes raised a glass in mock salute. "You know he wasn't after the King."

"Of course I do, but I had to get him out of the way for awhile."

Estes' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

Berenson looked around the empty room, the unpleasant stench of stale beer, old smoke and bitter urine seemed to lodge immovable at the back of the throat. "I don't want Brody dead, not yet anyway. He still has his uses."

Estes moved even closer, trying to read Berenson's illegible face. "That's not the only reason," he said finally. "There's something more, something you're not telling me. Something about Quinn! Why would you want to get him out of the way for awhile?"

At that moment there was a noise from the door and Grand Wizard Lockhart made his appearance in customary fashion by tripping up over the doorstep. The clientele of the False Glimmer, well used to this particular wizard's antics, muttered and shook their heads, quickly going back to their liquor and their gambling, as Lockhart made his clumsy way through to the back room.

"Good evening gentlemen," he purred in misplaced confidence as he pulled up a chair. "Is there something going on I should know about?"

Berenson and Estes exchanged knowing glances and both said in unison. "No!"

"Very well. I come straight from the King. I am his Grand Wizard now, you realise?" Not waiting for either to comment, Lockhart continued. "The Brody part of your operation was always a long shot, Berenson."

"It was all a long shot." Berenson commented drily.

"Bottom line, Brody's gone from asset to serious liability. The simple fact is, we can't trust him, we never could. We need to end it." 

Berenson's eyes shone even more brightly. "You agree with Estes, you mean end Brody?"

"The King wants this resolved. It's time!"

Berenson sat back in his chair and regarded the other two men. He sighed. "Then you are saying it's time I had a discussion with our simple woodcutter's son."

Estes nodded in agreement but Lockhart looked confused. "No. No more of your bullshit too intricate plans. It's simple; Brody needs to die!"

Berenson stood up. "This is a once in a lifetime operation that could transform everything!"

"You sound like you're fucking high. I'm telling the King!" Lockhart glared at the other wizard across the table.

"Fine, destroy everything we've been working for!" Berenson moved towards the door with Estes following him.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." Lockhart threw over his shoulder at the retreating pair.

Berenson stopped. Took a deep breath. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"You know what, for the first time I think I do. I see now how this place has been a fucking clown act for decades!"

Instead of responding Berenson turned on his heel and exited the room, closely followed by Estes. The great wooden door slammed shut with a resounding bang.

Lockhart moved to it. "Open the door," he ordered impatiently.

"No." Berenson shouted back.

Lockhart's temper boiled over. He banged on the door. "Open the goddamn door!"

"Make me!" Berenson responded with juvenile glee.

"You're dead...both of you!" Lockhart's angry voice rumbled on with a multitude of curses growing steadily more angry until he resorted to his greatest spell, "What the fuck? What the fucking fuck?" But it, like all the others was ignored.

As they walked out, Berenson stopped at the bar and said to Fara, the pretty barmaid. "Grand Wizard Lockhart managed to get himself locked in the back room. Could you let him out please?"

Behind them, Virgil suddenly appeared, panicked and pushing his way through the drunken gaggle of the False Glimmer's increasingly drunk customers. He stopped, breathing heavily he said, "Berenson, thank god I found you. It's Carrie!"

"What about Carrie?"

"She's been kidnapped by the Jihadists!"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies I know I promised Astrid this chapter but I think her VW may have broken down. Either that or she's got waylaid doing Kickass Fairy Queen stuff! Fingers crossed she'll make it for the next one.
> 
> On the plus side at least Bwg got more Lockhart and he's a Grand Wizard now, fancy that!


	6. Beauty and the Beasts

"You are here to see the assassin?"

Aasar's precisely pronounced query was pitched at the correct volume to carry through to Quinn's cell. It had the desired affect as Quinn roused himself and sat up, straining his ears to hear the corresponding response but it was lost in the clanking of keys from outside.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Wizard Berenson," Aaser continued. "Your reputation has reached even my country. I had always wondered why they sometimes call you the Bear.” 

Saul's voice could be heard over the squeak of the rusty door hinges, “I fucking hope not," he groaned.

"Now I see why!" Aasar waggled his eyebrows mysteriously. "Here he is." He indicated Quinn. "All ready for you. Can I get you whips, thumbscrews, or the latest Justin Bieber download?" he asked genially.

Quinn blanched at the list and thought that Aasar was taking his new career altogether too seriously.

Berenson snorted. "No, that won't be necessary. Leave us please." He strode into the cell with the thunderous authority of a summer storm rolling through a cloudless sky. "Do not say a word, just listen!" He spat as Quinn opened his mouth to protest about his predicament. "Carrie has been taken."

Quinn jerked forward, his eyes wide with concern. "What?"

"The Jihadists have her."

"No," Quinn shook his head, not wanting to believe such dire news. "You're lying," he said in challenge.

"Why would I lie?"

"Because that's what you do!" Quinn bitterly spat back. 

Berenson stared at him for a long time, his beard quivering menacingly. Finally he said, "I had my reasons for doing what I did and be assured it was to keep you safe. But there is no time now. Carrie's life is in danger. We need to save her."

"How? How the fuck can I do that when you have me locked up here?" Quinn shuddered with anger at his continued constriction.

"I'll get you out," Berenson said. "But you must agree to do things my way."

Quinn stared at him in disbelief. "Carrie is in fucking danger and you want to negotiate with me?"

"It's no negotiation. I will tell you what must be done, you will do this my way. Do we have a deal?"

Quinn breathed out, shook his head in disapproval. "Un-fucking-believable," he muttered. "But yes. I will do whatever it takes to make her safe."

"I want to make sure you understand," Berenson continued. "You'll get no support, no acknowledgement if you're caught. No contact except with me. We do this my way!"

"You done?"

Berenson held his stare. "There is the small matter of Brody. I know Estes contracted you to kill him."

"Well things have moved on, haven't they? I have learned that the collateral damage of killing Brody would be to destroy Carrie, and I ain't doing that," Quinn stated slowly, so Berenson could make no mistake in interpreting his intentions.

"Very well." Berenson said. "Now give me time to get you out, I'll be back by nightfall."

Quinn tried to lift his arms in impatience. "Fucking hurry up then. We have to save Carrie!"

Behind a peep hole, unnoticed, in the inside wall, an eye had watched and ears had listened intently to the proceedings. John 'I'm a spy, I know shit' Redmond, Head of the King's Secret Security Service, nodded knowingly.

Standing up on stiff legs from kneeling on the icy cold floor, he took a long swig, purely for medicinal purposes obviously, of the hard liquor always close at hand in his hip flask. He waited until it's warmth permeated through him and then he hurried away to inform the King of this latest intelligence. And thereby missed what happened in the cell next, which would have been the biggest scoop of his, or anybody else's, spying career!

 

*********************************************

"Have you ever had someone who somehow takes over your life, pulls you in, gets you to do things that aren’t really you, that you knew were wrong, but you can’t help yourself?” Roya Hammad stared viciously at Carrie.

"Yes," Carrie answered guiltily, looking away from the challenge of Roya's penetrating gaze. "Yes I have."

"Well, I’ve never been that stupid, you idiot whore!” Roya pronounced triumphantly. "The time is coming when you will pay for your crimes!"

Carrie sniffed bravely, trying to stop her lower lip from wobbling and betraying how frightened she really was. "What will you do with me?" 

Roya laughed evilly. "You are not our prey here, you never were. You are simply the bait for a far bigger fish and we will reel him in!"

Carrie bit back her panic, tried to keep control. She was securely tied to a tree somewhere in the dense forest to the north of Gansa's Folly. About her was a hive of industry as Jihadist fighters appeared to be preparing for a new offensive. Most intriguingly over to her left, before Roya had arrived to taunt her, she had been watching two men painstakingly preparing what could only be described as a glass coffin. She shuddered uncontrollably at the sight of it.

She was not in a good place. Lacking her meds, her mind was falling over itself. So much tempestuous noise blowing a destructive gale through every brain cell, not allowing her the peace to think. 

Christ she needed to focus!

She drew in a long, ragged breath. Trying to find something to latch onto, something that would resonate above the shrieking maelstrom in her mind. Finally she fell on the one thing that she really cared about. "Where is Brody?" she asked hesitantly reaching for an anchor.

Roya sniggered. "He's hanging around somewhere. Javadi has seen to that!"

A long high pitched screaming lament pierced through Carrie's consciousness causing her very being to roll nauseously like a ship on a storm bound ocean. She tried to ignore it, tried to hold steady, tried to function as the tempest battered her uncompromisingly. "He's not......" she managed to stutter weakly.

"Oh, but he is!" Roya was filled with absolute glee. "The great Abu Nazir earned his martyrdom in the raid when we took you, so Brody's usefulness was ended. Who can trust a traitor? Who but a fool could be taken in by his nonsense?"

An overwhelming wave of grief crashed through Carrie. She could no longer defend herself, she could only let go as the tears began to flow unconsolably, stealing her resolve and her fight.

"Hush your womanly wailing!" A male voice shouted from the command tent nearby where a number of the burly, ugly Jihadists had been gathering to discuss plans. "You're giving me a headache!"

 

***************************************************

 

Quinn slumped dejectedly in his bonds waiting for Berenson to come through on his promise when the sound of screeching tyres and a flash of intense light suddenly filled the air. It was followed by thick black smoke bellowing into the cell and the lung-clutching smell of exhaust fumes.

"Damn!" A husky voice said. "I can't believe VW pass those emissions tests, it must be by some extraordinarily strong magic!"

"Hey," Quinn said nonchalantly, trying to sound cool and not splutter, as Astrid, the Kickass Fairy Queen, appeared out of the cloying smoke in front of him. She had been entering rooms is such an eccentric way for as long as he could remember, so he found nothing unusual in her sudden appearance now.

"Hello," she purred, her slight accent making the words sound enticingly exotic. "Fancy meeting you in a place like this." She dead panned, wrinkling her pretty nose in disgust at the austerity of the surroundings. 

"It's not so bad, certainly busier than I'm used to," Quinn shrugged. "Do you know I've had more visitors to see me here today than I have in the rest of my life," he muttered. "Two!"

"Keep looking on the bright side," she replied dryly.

He nodded and watched her making a thorough investigation of the premises. She rustled about in the folds of her dress, took out her mobile and began to take pictures. She always had such awesome kit, VW not withstanding. Quinn tried not to be too jealous when he thought about his own, less than sophisticated, method of sending sketches by carrier pigeon!

"Christ, this cell just isn't up to standard. How does Adal do it?" she muttered. "We at Fairy HQ would never get away with it. Sloppy - they let you keep your clothes on, use duct tape of debatable quality and no waterboarding?" She came back to him and reached across to gently stroke his cheek. "You're not even cold. No discomfort at all! Have they even interrogated you?" She shook her head. "Scheisse! Bet they even offered you a cup of tea!"

Quinn shook his head. "No they didn't but I'd kill for a coffee!"

Astrid clicked her fingers and a battered blue/grey cup with Kaffee etched on it appeared in her hand along with the unmistakeable aroma of fresh coffee that made Quinn's tastebuds tingle in excited expectation. She helped him take a long, luxurious mouthful of the rich, strong liquid.

He sat back feeling the life oozing back into his tired body as the caffeine did its work. He regarded Astrid with all the fondness of a baby brother gazing in hero-worship at his epic older sister. She appeared so beautifully fragile but, like the first spring snowdrop pushing resolutely upwards through a field of ice, her looks were deceptive. Her inner core was irrepressible, as strong as iron, and she was powered by professional pride, along with magic of course; she was the Kickass Fairy Queen after all. "Sloppy," she muttered again, shaking her head. 

"So why are you here, Astrid?" he asked. "Come to break me out?"

She de-wrinkled her nose and moved back to him. "Well, it could be argued that you're not doing a very good job of looking after yourself since you stepped out into the world," she began.

Quinn bit his lip."No, I am. I got this," he somewhat doubtfully tried to reassure her. "It's just a minor deviation from the plan. Berenson is going to get me out, he promised."

Astrid rolled her eyes. "The wizard that put you here in the first place? I'm not impressed by his promises so far or by the way he has treated you. If he abuses you any more I will be forced to set his beard on fire!"

"I'd like to see that," Quinn smiled boyishly, his dimples furrowing his cheeks. "I really would."

A silken cushioned stool appeared magically beside the Fairy Queen and she sat on it daintily, smoothing down the creases that dared to appear in her beautifully worked lace dress and placing her mobile gently on the floor beside her. "Actually I came to tell you something. Something that I've been putting off speaking to you about for a long time, a very long time."

Quinn fixed her with his most inquisitive gaze. "What?"

"Well, where to start?" She stopped, looked around the cell again, nervously pushed that pesky lock of hair that continually stuck out tidily back behind her ear, took a deep breath and said, "You know these circumstances you get yourself into?" Quinn's eyebrows lifted as he looked at her quizzically. "The garbage situations that are beyond your control?" she clarified.

"I'm working on it," Quinn interjected. "I spent the whole morning in Gansa's Folly yesterday and I didn't climb into anything!"

Astrid reached out and placed her hand gently on his shoulder. "You're a good boy," she said. "You always have been but I haven't been entirely truthful with you." She sighed deeply. "Actually you can't control it, you never will be able to. It is your blessing and your curse."

Quinn's face darkened. "But I will. You told me it was just a matter of self control, that if I worked hard....."

She raised her hand and gently placed it on his lips to stop him. "I wanted to protect you," she began. "I should have told you sooner but I thought you were safer not knowing because knowing will mean you have to change. Knowing will put you in the gravest danger."

"Told me what? Protect me from whom? You know I'm badass enough to look after myself." He snorted and glanced about the cell. "Most times anyway."

A large perfect tear formed in Astrid's eye, and ran purposefully down her delicate, pale cheek.

"Astrid, what is it?" Quinn was growing more anxious by the minute about the Kickass Fairy Queen's uncharacteristic behaviour. "Have I done something wrong?"

She sniffed. "No, my darling you never have."

'Then has someone hurt you? I will kill anyone who....." She shook her head and smiled, the saddest smile Quinn had ever seen. "Then what?" He pressed, feeling the frustration and utter uselessness burgeoning in his chest.

"I will explain." She sighed morosely. "I will tell you the story, finally. Many years ago a baby was born to King Adal," Astrid began. "The Trash Prince."

"Yes I know," Quinn put in impatiently. "Carrie told me all about Peter the Trash Prince but what has......?" He stopped and gulped. Then his mouth formed a perfect circle as the candle of enlightenment was finally lit and he muttered, "Oh."

"You were always quick to understand, Peter," she smiled, as more tears rolled down her face. "It made it so difficult to keep things from you. In the end I had to cast a spell so you would ignore and forget all mention of the Trash Prince. Only recently have I released you from that spell. I am sorry, I never meant to mislead you."

"But," Quinn began, stopped, licked his lips and continued, as his mind tried to compute this life-shattering information. "Then Bol T Moor is not my father?"

Astrid shook her head. "No. The Wizard Berenson took you to him when you were but a babe in arms. Bless the woodcutter that he looked after you so well, kept you safe when your enemies ripped the world apart searching for you."

"And King Adal is my father."

"Yes," Astrid nodded. "And he has looked for you tirelessly and loved you from afar. Many nights has he lain sleepless in his bed regretting that he let Berenson take you, his only child, his heir, away from him."

Quinn gulped again. "And I am not a woodcutter's son?"

"No you are not, you are Prince of the Realm."

"Fuck me!" 

At that moment the cell door burst open and Aasar Khan't almost fell in. "I knew it!" He kept repeating. "I knew it. You are the one I've been waiting for! I am not in the habit of listening at cell doors but the enchanting light brought me, and that most extraordinary scent. And then I heard and now I know your secret and it is time for me to act!"

Aasar breathed in deeply and took out a gleaming, extremely sharp sword from the scabbard at his waist. Astrid drew in an astonished gulp of breath, surging forward but too late and Quinn, completely helpless as he was still duct-taped up, stiffened as the blade neared his throat but then let out a long relieved sigh as Aasar proceeded to expertly cut away his bonds.

"Please make me your first knight, Prince Peter, please!" Aasar threw himself on to his knees before Quinn, who looked extremely uncomfortable at this turn of events.

"Thank you, Aasar," he said finally. "But I can't. Please get up."

"Why not?"

It hurt as the blood rushed back into the veins of Quinn's hands and feet, but he pushed the pain away and, with Aasar's help stood up. "Make you a knight. Not yet anyway." Very carefully Quinn, holding onto the wall, tested both of his painfully shuddering legs to ensure they could take his weight. Once confident he could stand without support, he sucked at his lip as his mind went into overdrive processing and planning following this latest revelation.

Astrid was looking at him, her eyes full of concern. "Peter," she said. "I've seen that stubborn setting of your jaw too many times. What are you thinking?"

"There's something I have to do," Quinn replied, before he stiffly moved away, running his hand through his hair. "I've fucked it up again!"

Astrid scowled. "No you haven't. It's your girlfriend whose in trouble. You had nothing to do with it."

Quinn sighed. "But here's the thing, I promised Berenson I would do anything to get her back."

Aasar groaned. "But that was before you knew. Things have changed now!"

"You don't understand." The muscle beside Quinn's jaw flexed worrisomely. "It doesn't matter if I am Quinn, the woodcutter's son or Peter, the Trash Prince, I have to be reliable if nothing else." His voice was calm but his eyes bright with emotion in the dull cell light.

"So go to your father, get an army, flush out these terrorists and save her that way," Aasar proposed. "I can help!"

Quinn shook his head. "I promised Berenson I would do it his way."

"But he lied to you!" Aasar sounded increasingly desperate. "You owe him no loyalty."

"Aasar is right, Peter," Astrid said sadly. "Berenson has known all along who you are."

"Doesn't matter, I have to make her safe."

"But you're a prince now. You have responsibilities! What will your father say?" Aasar was pleading.

"He won't know. Nobody will know. I have to do this thing first, then I can be the Prince!" Quinn stood proud and strong, at his physical peak. Never had he appeared so noble and courageous; it was as if Astrid's revelation had peeled away the facade he had unconsciously hidden behind for the whole of his life.

Aasar was moved to vow solemnly "Then I will go with you and protect you as best I can, my Prince."

"Thank you Aasar," Quinn replied. "And I promise you, when I am restored to my birthright I will do all in my power to update the current discriminatory situation and to enact new knight equality legislation."

Aasar beamed at him, and sniffed a little as his eyes moistened, overcome with chivalrous emotion. "I think I have something in my eye," he muttered, rubbing at it solicitously and turning away.

Astrid stood proudly before Quinn and ran her slender hand lovingly along his razor-sharp cheek. "My brave one," she said, her voice heartbreakingly melancholy. "You know the curse placed on your head as a baby still stands. Not one of us can protect you from it further. Not Berenson or any other wizard. And, though it breaks my heart to admit it, not I."

Quinn gulped. "I don't want to be a prince, I don't want to even live, not if I can't be with her." He took hold of Astrid's hands and squeezed them tightly. "I believe that I can save her and endure whatever consequence that brings me because eventually you will save me, Astrid." He nodded slowly, holding her tearful stare with all the strength he could muster. "I put my faith in you; you and Carrie will save me."


	7. Peter and the Wolves

"It is beautiful!" Aasar breathed in awe.

He and Quinn stood on what felt like the edge of the world but was actually a promontory, a clearing in the high forest, atop a rock outcrop. A popular picnic area in the foot hills for those who had the stamina to make the long, rewarding climb winding through the thinning fur trees, where the cool, cleansing scent of pine eased straining lungs, panting for oxygen, and burning tight in the chest. In the thin air a lone hawk, wings wide, swooped and soared, enjoying the freedom of the vacillating air currents, letting out a shrill challenge, an exultation of sheer spirit, which echoed defiantly through the solitary crags and down to the valleys below.

Behind the two men, raising majestically above the tree line were the frosted white peaks of the mountains that marked the northern border of the Black Ops Kingdom. In the bright morning sun their snow covered summits sparkled like diamonds, hard and precious. While, in front of them stretched out the rest of the kingdom in a rich tapestry of gorgeous greens and fertile browns, the verdant fields appearing to be alive, swaying, all in motion, as the light breeze teased the ripening corn. This was where the kingdom's wealth was grown; the workplace and bread basket of the people, their hamlets and cottages chuffing out puffs of white smoke were dotted about the patchwork landscape. Cutting through the scene, meandering lazily in sweeping arcs and bends that almost turned back on themselves, were the silver indentations of mature rivers, interrupted in places by the dark shapes of the barges ferrying produce down to the sea ports. Indeed on the horizon the crystalline clear blue of the ocean merged with the cobalt sky in a shimmering haze that made the exact point of contact indeterminable. Out on the sea what appeared to be small boats, but were actually the massive white-sailed galleons that dared to cross the ocean, could just be made out, bobbing gently on the calm waters, while above lazy cotton wool clouds scudded slowly, in no hurry to reach any destination.

It was a truly fantastical sight, the stuff of fairy tales, that would touch the heart of even the most battle-worn of warriors and Aasar simply articulated the wonder that many before him had previously stated. The Kingdom of Black Ops was truly a wonderful place.

Quinn gazed out on it and said nothing. His only movement a nervous gulping of his Adam's apple.

"It should be yours. And you would give it all up, this beauty, your Kingdom, for a woman?" Aasar asked.

"Like that." Quinn replied in earnest.

Aasar shook his head. "And you haven't even tasted the sweetness of her lips?"

Quinn turned to him with the most confident dimpled grin brightening his sharp features. "Not yet," he said cockily.

Aasar shook his head. "You are truly in love, my friend," he breathed and then resumed drinking in the luscious beauty that rolled out before him.

The appearance of both men had changed tremendously since they had left the dungeons. Berenson had been most generous. He had given them both a whole new set of clothes. Aasar, at last looked like a knight, be it an exotic one, and Quinn had ditched his threadbare, faded woodcutter's son's breaches and tattered shirt for a much more princely set made from soft silk and decorated with intricate stitching. The wizard had tried to persuade him to chose bright clothes but Quinn had doggedly stuck to a manly navy shirt and black pants and leather boots. At his slim waist hung a silver ornate dagger in a jewelled scabbard that Berenson had also given him.

When Quinn had asked suspiciously why he was being so generous, the wizard had simply waggled his eyebrows mysteriously and said it was a pleasure to be in a partnership with him.

"Quinn!" 

"Who?" Somebody called back.

"Him!" It was Berenson's voice harsh and authoritative, coming from the back of the glade, where he and the small band of mercenaries he had brought with him were waiting. Virgil was there too, pacing worriedly and Max who was muting silently as usual.

Quinn gulped. "This is just the fucking beginning," he muttered, wiping his hand across his watery eyes nervously.

Aasar lay a comradely hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to do this," he said. "We will find another way."

Quinn shook his head, jaw set hard as granite. "This is the only way. I would fight the world for her!" he replied as he turned and walked back slowly towards where the wizard waited impatiently.

"They are coming," Berenson said.

Away behind them, hidden in the trees, a curious pair of eyes watched. John 'I'm a spy, I know shit,' Redmond had climbed to a precarious spot up one of the tallest nearby trees for an excellent view of proceedings. He may have missed the revelation of the century back in the cell but his spy sixth sense had told him that if he followed the wizard and his apparent new friend, the woodcutter's son, he would find out some important shit. At the current time he was berating himself for choosing this particular vantage point, as pine needles seemed to be irritatingly working their way into every one of his orifices and the branch he was clinging to did not appear as sturdy as it had from the ground. He was praying that it would hold the weight of a somewhat portly Secret Service Head while at the same time trying to reach his back pocket where he had thrust his trusted hip flask, for some much needed Dutch courage! His petty discomforts were all about to be forgotten, however, as he watched the proceedings unfold below him.

Almost immediately Berenson pronounced it, at the far end of the clearing, there was a rustling of branches and a surly pack of scowling, growling Jihadists appeared. Quinn squinted into the darkness of the trees beyond them where foreboding shadows seemed to linger but he couldn't pick out Carrie.

"Berenson, you don't look like a man who is about to do the biggest deal of his career!" Majid Javadi, the alpha wolf, stepped out to stand in front of his fighters, slimy smile slithering across his face. "I believe I have something you want. There is a deal to be made here but what will you give me in return?"

"What do you want?"

Javadi snorted. "Quite simply......you!"

"Is that everything?"

"For now."

"So you've put some thought into this." Berenson scoffed belligerently. "But the problem is you got it all wrong. That's not going to happen."

"Then we have no trade!" Javadi made to turn away. "You have wasted my time."

"Wait," commanded Berenson. "I am only an old wizard, tired and broken beyond belief, any usefulness I once had has been lost to the sands of time, I have no value to you. What if I could give you something I know you crave?"

Javadi rolled his eyebrows. "You sell yourself short, wizard!" He snapped. "And you have no inkling of what I crave."

"But I do. I know what you want, what you have wanted for years. What you and your brothers have ripped the kingdom apart to find."

"What the fuck are you doing?" Quinn whispered. "I thought we were going to fight for her!"

Javadi stared at his opponent for a long time. Then he licked his lupine lips greedily. "Even if you had access to this thing I crave, why would you give it to me? Your King would kill you!"

Berenson nodded. "I am loyal to him no more. I am just a simple father who wants to keep his daughter safe."

Quinn shifted uncomfortably at the wizard's side, alarms bells sounding so loudly in his head he thought everyone must surely hear them, his eyes running over the enemy, taking in their gnashing teeth, the bristling of weapons in front of him, wondering if it was worth putting up a fight and realising they likely had no chance against such hardened warriors. He gulped, he really was at the wily old wizard's mercy.

"She will not thank you for it." Javadi mocked. "She is one crazy hell cat!"

Berenson shrugged. "May I see her?"

"May I see what you intend to bargain for her?"

Berenson shook his head stubbornly. "You first!"

Javadi hesitated and then turned and signalled to the woods. Roya Hammand appeared leading forward a very forlorn and bedraggled Carrie. Her clothes were torn, her head bowed, hair lank and scraggly, the air of complete, crushing sadness clung to her very being. She seemed unaware and uncaring of where she was, as she mumbled intelligible words.

Quinn was horrified at the state she was in. It took all of his self control not to run to her and enfold her in his strong arms. At that moment, nothing was as important as keeping her safe from the rest of this evil world, and he was powerless to do anything to save her. "This is not OK!" he spat at the wizard.

Berenson ignored him. "Shit!" he muttered instead. "She's off her meds!" He turned to the group of mercenaries standing at the ready behind him. "Have any of you got red hair?" he hissed.

There was a communal shaking of heads and muttering but a hand sprung up from the back. "I do!" Came a voice.

"For Christ sake put a hat on!" Berenson ordered. "A goddamn big one to cover it all. This is serious, you are in grave danger - she could blow and go for you at any time!"

"You see my booty, Wizard!" Javadi called wolfishly. "Now show me yours!"

"Of course!" Berenson signalled to Virgil and Max who had been standing at the edge of the group next to the picnic area. Everyone turned to look. Shrugging his shoulders in a bemused fashion, Virgil stepped away and Max followed. Their movement revealed a pile of trash cans of different sizes and varying degrees of fullness that had formally been concealed.

"Motherfucker!" Quinn hissed as the familiar tingle deep within him germinated into an irresistible itch and then further blossomed into an all-encompassing compulsion powerfully flashing through him and causing his limbs, unbidden by any conscious thought, to hurl his body head long at the trash.

"What the?" Aasar muttered and tried to step forward to stop him but two burly mercenaries (neither with any hair at all, red or otherwise!) grabbed him and held him immovable.

"Jesus Christ!" Virgil cursed as realisation hit him. Max stayed mute but looked suitably astonished at this turn of events. A couple of the mercenaries muttered worriedly at what was happening and up in the tree, Redmond nearly fell off his branch in astonishment at what he was seeing - he had to tell the King and quickly!

There was a flash of light, a scream of tyres and the smell of exhaust fumes and Kickass Fairy Queen Astrid appeared as if summoned by Quinn's uncontrollable garbage moment. By the time everyone had recovered from her appearance, the Trash Prince's identity was not in doubt as he wallowed in the garbage like a pig in muck.

Astrid glared at Berenson. "You absolute bastard!" she swore and suddenly the wizard's beard exploded into blue flames.

"Put it out!" Berenson yelled desperately fanning at the fire.

Thinking quickly, Max grabbed a glass of water from the picnic table and threw it over the furiously smouldering wizard who consequently began to splutter too! Virgil joined in until the fire was doused and Berenson was thoroughly saturated. 

"Enough!" Javadi's voice cut through the chaos with the sharpness of newly forged steel.

A dripping wet, chastised Berenson with his beard severely scorched muttered. "Fucking Max!" And then pulled together the sparse shreds of dignity he had left to turn back to the Jihadist leader. "Well, do we have a deal?"

Javadi laughed, long and hard and his men joined in. And then in an instant his face was cold and pitiless once more. "I do not trust you, wizard. You could have dressed any idiot peasant in princely clothes and paid him to throw himself into the garbage, but only the true Trash Prince would be protected by the Kickass Fairy Queen." His smile was pure evil. "You have made your point. I accept the deal. Your daughter for the Trash Prince!"

"No!" Aasar and Astrid breathed together.

Aasar was struggling in his captives' brawny arms but making no headway and Astrid was so annoyed that little puffs of white smoke kept appearing and swirling, violent but impotent, above her head. 

"Scheisse!" she cursed. None of the mercenaries dare go near her. She was about to cast another spell but a strained, if familiar, voice stopped her.

Quinn had pulled himself to a standing position in the trash as he fought with every fibre in his body the impulse that threatened to overwhelm him. "It's OK, Astrid," he said. "The deal is done. I will go with them."

"But Peter..." she began.

Quinn smiled sadly. "We discussed this already. It is what I have to do."

Javadi signalled to two of his men, who hesitantly moved passed the Kickass Fairy Queen, and roughly pulled Quinn from the garbage heap. They held him tightly but he stood proudly defiant, his foot somehow had become wedged in a small pedal bin, but he ignored it with princely dignity.

"Virgil," Berenson ordered. "Get Carrie."

Spitefully Roya most ungently pushed Carrie's confused form forward and Virgil lovingly took hold of her and then walked her back to safety behind the mercenaries' line.

"It is done." Javadi intoned.

"I will never forgive you for this, you conniving, old fraud!" Astrid spat at the wizard. "Be afraid, for you will find me in your bedroom one night, in a chair waiting for you cos I'm the gal who protects the guy who kills bad guys!"

If only Carrie had been coherent enough to witness the sheer majestic beauty of Quinn's sacrifice as he gave himself up. He walked slowly towards the jabbering Jihadists, all taunting him with what they planned to do to him. There was so much courage and gravitas in his sad yet proud walk to meet his destiny. He held his shoulders taunt and his head high, ice blue eyes unwaveringly staring to the front, muscle pulsing at his jaw, hair game to die for and even with his foot still wedged in the rubbish bin, making his gait somewhat lopsided, he was the image of a true hero.

A poignant silence settled over the glade, as if all the woodland creatures, and even the Jihadists, recognised the pathos of the moment which did not fail to bring a tear to every noble eye that saw it. 

But Carrie didn't see it, her face was buried into Virgil's chest, she shuddered uncontrollably and just kept mumbling. "He's dead. My love is dead!"


	8. Sleeping Beauty

In the throne room of the castle, with an elegant flutter of silk and lace and the lingering scent of lavender and hypocrisy, those who thought of themselves as the very important folk of the Black Ops Kingdom gathered for a meeting. The air buzzed like electricity through a wire, filled with the excited, gleeful energy that seems to be generated when petty people hear of, but are not touched by, the tragic misfortune of others. 

John 'I know shit, I'm a spy' Redmond had arrived two hours previously and, with impressive onward mass communication coverage, the news that had first been whispered in the corridors of power was now common knowledge and the subject of every conversation in the taverns and markets of Gansa's Folly: the Trash Prince had been found, and lost again.

The King was said to be in a terrible humour and had not, as yet, made his appearance but Queen Alison and her bodyguard, Ivan the Terrible Accent, were there, muttering treacherously together, plotting nothing except how to advance their own cause and thus create more harm for everyone else. 

Ivan whispered as his big hands firmly but gently massaged the tight muscles between the Queen's shoulder blades with intimate familiarity. "Just a little farther now, OK? We're almost there."

"Easy for you to say but quite difficult for me to decipher with your accent." Alison responded as she stretched with feline grace, luxuriating in his touch.

"Don't be scared of him."

Alison sniggered in disbelief "Who, Adal?"

Ivan nodded. "He's the pussycat. Just put out the milk, he will lap it up. Believe me."

Alison looked doubtful. "It's gonna take a lot more than that to turn King Adal against Berenson."

"It's done already." Ivan chuckled confidently "Wait and see, he is already turned. Berenson's weakness is Carrie. Adal knows it. When he comes to you, and he will come, play hard to get, and then offer our services. Adal will be devastated by his loss and will not have the heart to survive, finally you will have the Kingdom in your hands."

"Ssssh," Alison hushed, stepping away from Ivan towards her own throne. "The old fool is coming!"

There was a subdued but shrill trumpet call and King Adal's irritated voice shouting for it to cease arrived seconds before he did. Holding his head like a man with a migraine, he walked wearily into the room, ignoring the bows and supplications of his subjects. Suddenly he was an old man, aged beyond years by despair and defeat, he climbed the dais to slump dejectedly on to his throne. 

"Where are my wizards?" he asked listlessly as he signalled to the nearby page boy who delivered a large golden goblet of wine to him. The King took a long gulp and then grimaced as if the wine was the most repulsive vinegar he had ever tasted.

"I am here, Sire," Lockhart stepped in front of the throne to be greeted by a loud bad-mannered burp from the King. 

"And Estes?" Adal asked.

Lockhart cleared his throat nervously. "Unfortunately he got blown away by Abu Nazir," he said with genuine regret.

Adal snorted, took another gulp of wine. "And Berenson?" The name rolled off his tongue sharply as if too tart to taste, spiced by bitter hatred.

"He is here, Sire. Under guard. We did not know what you wanted of him."

Adal nodded. "And what of Carrie?"

Lockhart shook his head. "I don't know just what it is she is smoking but she has lost herself entirely. She has taken to her bed in some sort of stupor, won't get up, just keeps mumbling on and on about losing her love!"

"Fuck!" Adal cursed. "Bring Berenson here now. I want to talk to him!"

Berenson, grey beard strangely blackened and misshapen, was ushered forwards by two burly guards who remained at either side of him. The King eyed him for a long time. "You look ridiculous!" he snapped finally. "The scorched beard look is so not this season! What the hell happened?"

"That goddamn German fairy you sent to look after your son, that's what fucking happened!" Berenson growled. "Is she here?" He glanced around the room nervously.

"No. Surprisingly enough she is out with all my other loyal subjects, trying to save the Prince! Trying to right the wrong you have done me, you treacherous bastard!" Adal stood up to move in front of the wizard. "What are you up to?"

Berenson shook his head. "Nothing."

"You are holding out on me right now!" Adal's temper was beginning to fray. "I'm tired of you and your bad judgement, you and your bullshit! You wear me out!"

"You know what Adal..... fuck you!" Berenson positively glowered with anger.

The King shook his head, equally brusque, and shouted back. "No, fuck you! I'm bringing in the torturer."

"Oh Christ!" 

"What you've been up to, he can figure out!"

"I'll be cross examined for six months when I'm needed here!" Berenson muttered exasperatedly.

"We'll get by without you! Unless you want to come clean right now." Adal snorted bluntly.

"I told you all I can," Berenson spat.

"Completely clean. Who you been talking to. Why you gave my son to the Jihadists!"

The two most powerful men in the Kingdom glared at each other and the earth seemed to stand still. Every eye in the room was fixed on the interaction, every heart hesitated to beat, every gossip-driven soul anxious to witness the dramatic spectacle as the anger and frustration threatened to turn ugly.

It was the King who lost his patience first. "Fine, you're on the rack tomorrow!" He snapped and turned to the guards. "Put him in a cell and sit on him. I want no more of his meddling, things are bad enough!"

As the guards took hold of his arms, Berenson stared at the King. "You know what, Adal? You will remember this moment. Maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but six months from now or a year and it will shame you."

"You arrogant bastard! I have lost my son, I am shamed enough!" Adal spat back. "Take him away!"

As the gathered throng began to mutter and move away, certain, after previous experience of court that the show was over for the moment, the Queen stood and regally glided to her husband's side. "I am so sorry my dear. I think I can help." she purred in his ear.

"Help?" Adal's humour was not improving. "Since this doesn't involve shoes or handbags I highly doubt it!"

Alison smiled sweetly, ignoring the insult and continued. "You know my man, Ivan? Well, he has certain connections with some of the...erm.... less respectable elements of your society. He has specific intel on their current capabilities. Please let me help, my dear." 

The King allowed himself to be led to where Ivan stood, smiling with supercilious condescension. Lockhart hovered close-by, ears flapping. Adal bit back the angry fire that Ivan always seemed to ignite in him and said, "Alison says you're knowledgable about the Jihadi's spell capacity."

"I...hum...might know something about it yes." Ivan confirmed shadily.

"They are threatening my son, we need to know if they can deliver on this threat." the King continued.

Ivan, glacial eyes cold and emotionless, drew in a deep breath before answering. "Six months ago my agents confirmed that the spell was highly volatile, potentially earth-shattering and still active."

"Damn," Adal muttered.

************************************************************

Quinn was all duct taped up again. This time sitting beneath a leafy tree deep in the heart of the forest. Qasim, the least lupine of the Jihadists, was crouching beside him having offered him a drink of water. 

"No coffee?" Quinn asked hopefully.

Qasim shook his head so Quinn guzzled what he was offered, thirstily. It was a hot day and it was a long time, plus a lot had happened, since breakfast.

"I don't understand why you fight, Qasim," Quinn said softly voicing the query that had been bothering him for a long time.

The other man regarded him with the biggest, saddest eyes Quinn had ever seen. "Our strength is our suffering, and you provide us with an endless supply. This country has never been my home and never will be," Qasim replied mournfully.

"And that justifies burning it down?" Quinn asked.

"Terror is the necessary prologue to a Cally Fete." Qasim seemed less than sure in both his words and the worried spark flashing in his eye. He continued, "If your father gives us what we want we won't have to go through with this."

"And what do you want?"

"Every man must have a beard," Qasim began to recite.

Quinn snorted and gestured with a shrug of his shoulders to the shadow of bum fluff omnipresent on his chin. "Some of us can't quite manage a whole one!"

Qasim ignored his feeble attempt at humour. "No more bacon butties," he hesitated. "Oh yes and all of Queen Allison's hand bags to be given to Roya Hammand and her shoes too."

Quinn shook his head. He may never have met his father but he knew instinctively that such demands could never be met. "That will never happen," he said.

Qasim looked away, nervous tongue running around his lips, water bottle shaking in his hands. "It might," he said finally. "After we send them a warning."

"What kind of warning?"

"A demonstration of our power." Qasim's consternation and discomfort was growing with every word. He was now gazing out into the middle distance, unable to meet Quinn's inquisitive stare. "A promise was made long ago. We will deliver it in full."

Quinn drew in a ragged breath as realisation hit him, hard. "Oh, so that's why I'm still alive." He let out the air in his lungs very slowly. "It will accomplish nothing. Your demands will not be met."

Qasim stiffened. "Then the attacks will go forward and the blood will be on their hands."

"No, Qasim the blood will be on your hands, blood of women and children." Quinn shook his head. "Maybe you should stop this."

"Even if I wanted to stop this how could I?"

"Get rid of the magic, dump the spell, walk away. Don't look back!"

Qasim looked genuinely unsure. "You talk like my friend, Hussein, the Good Man," he murmured but then his attention was taken, drawn away by general movement in the camp.

"It is time," Bibi pronounced authoritatively from where he was standing by the glass coffin beside Aziz, the Jihadist's own wizard. "Put him inside."

Quinn continued to stare hopefully expectant at Qasim but he only shrugged and moved away, allowing ungentle hands to push and pull their prisoner inexorably towards the place where all the other men waited.

"That fairy bitch is somewhere close by," Aziz said. "I can feel her magic. She is trying to find an atropine spell."

"Will it work?" Bibi asked concerned.

"Of course not, Nazir's original sarin spell, though many years old, is more powerful and my magic is stronger! I may even be able to trap her in the weave too!"

Bibi nodded. "Good. Let's do it."

They hustled Quinn inside the coffin and hastily closed it shut. Many sets of wolfish eyes stared at him; some eager, some full of hate, some cold as midnight on the winter's equinox and one set full of indecision and regret. All peered in at him with hypnotic curiosity. Quinn shivered uncontrollably but held Qasim's gaze defiantly.

Outside the container Aziz began the incantation that would rework and reawaken the curse that had lain dormant for years.

Inside the icy cold fingers of the blackest of evil magic forked silently forward to claim what they had been promised so long ago: the Trash Prince.

***********************************************************

"Where is he, Lockhart?" King Adal asked despondently.

He stood with his Chief Wizard on the ramparts of his castle looking north to the rolling green trees of the mighty forest and beyond to the snow capped peaks.

"We are doing all that we can to find him, Sire."

Adal banged his hand frustratedly onto the wall before him. "It's not good enough, maybe we should try to negotiate with them."

Lockhart snorted dismissively. "They hate us. Good luck finding common interest in that." 

"I cannot lose him!" Adal moaned in despair.

They heard it then, a single piercing scream, the voices of many souls fused into one screech, ripping through the air, shredding every ear that it penetrated, perfect in its crystalline horror, freezing the blood, chilling the marrow and mortally wounding the spirit. It was the sound of nature herself, crying out in pain and torment. It seemed to come from nowhere and yet was everywhere around them, demanding all who heard it bore witness to the unnatural act that was occurring. 

And then as quickly as it had come, the scream stopped and in the vacuum that followed the world waited, teetering on the edge of a deep chasm of heartbreaking sorrow. 

In the eery silence a shout came from the lookout on the high tower above them. "Smoke!" The King and his Chief Wizard were quickly surrounded by more soldiers all peering eagerly out towards the forest.

"Where?" Adal demanded.

"In the trees, Sire." The solider nearest to him pointed and sure enough a thin plume of black smoke appeared to be rising from a specific spot deep within the lush leafy canopy. 

"What the fuck?" Adal muttered.

Lockhart shuddered beside him. Though not as naturally skilled as the other wizards, he was adequately versed in magic lore enough to realise they were watching the incantation of a spell far too powerful for him to hope to combat. A spell that was against nature, somehow obscene and wrong, increased by the very time it had festered since its gestation and frightening now beyond imagining with the potency to bring the whole world to ruin. He shook his head slowly. "Jesus fucking Christ!" he muttered as the gates of hell were forced open and its stinking, sprawling evil spread forth into the world.

As they watched the plume of smoke rapidly expanded outwards into a black swirling cloud that within minutes started to advance towards them, steadfastly engulfing all of the blue of the sky above like some famished monster intent on eating the whole earth. In front of the cloud, their cries of distress horrible to ears that were already bleeding from the earlier supernatural scream, all the birds of the forest flew, every wing beating desperately to get away from the blackness. While, on the ground, it appeared as if the whole country was moving as the earthbound creatures of the wood likewise sought escape. There was none to be found as the churning cloud advanced and swallowed up all before it. 

The ground began to rumble and shake, the castle tottering crazily as its foundations were rocked. Loose masonry fell from the tower roofs, shattering on the cobblestones below. The hunting dogs in the kennels began to howl like frenzied wolves in panicked fear while in the castle stables horses whinnied and kicked out at their wooden stalls. And people began to scream, running about wildly, rushing to find some sort of cover, to get away from the horror.

"Will this ever fucking end?" Lockhart screamed in fear and despair but his words were lost in the confusion.

The watchers on the wall stood mesmerised as the darkness swept toward them, an unstoppable tsunami that threatened only death and destruction but held them all enrapt, unable to flee from its catastrophic promise. It hit with all the ferocious anger of a just man finally seeing he has been wronged. It roared over their heads with ear-shattering thunder and retina-withering lightening. The wind crashing against them threatening to throw them from the walls unless they held on with white-knuckled courage to any handhold they could find and, following the darkness and wind, came freezing bullets of rain, stinging and saturating; nature's tears falling on the ground.

Though it seemed to last whole lifetimes, it was mere minutes until the tempest unleashed by the curse rolled onwards and away. And when it was passed, the earth ceased to quake, the wind died and the animals calmed but the sky remained thunderously black, the sun seemingly gone forever, the world changed, grey and sterile, all colour and joy leeched away and lost.

King Adal threw himself to his knees and added his own tears to the black puddles that had sprung up on the walkway of the wall. He cried for the son who had been unjustly ripped from him so long ago, for the son who suffered such horror simply due to the circumstances of his birth and for the son he loved with all his heart but had never known. 

"I have lost him," he moaned. "And the world is ended!"


	9. Carrie's Adventures in Wonderland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the world needs more Carrie and Quinn fluff!

Quinn was falling apart. 

Spinning crazily in the vortex of the spell, his senses screaming, every stretching sinew pulling away from every other in unbearable tearing, ripping pain. He thought he might be howling like a dog but he could not really be sure. All of his senses were in turmoil. Everything was in motion. He could hold on to nothing, no sensation, no thought, no action; they all slipped away to confusion. All of his muscles loosening, his fibres failing, the very essence of what made him who he was brittle and fracturing, cracking like melting ice on a pond, and rushing apart as fast as the solar system in a million different directions. 

He was letting go, ceasing to be, his mortal soul uncoiling, slipping into darkness as he simply unwound, spiralling to nothing.

Then, with a jarring thud, he hit something hard and all movement stopped. He groaned, lying spread eagled on the ground, sucking much needed air into lungs that had only seconds before been gasping their last torturous breaths.

He sat up, slowly, moving his throbbing limbs with great care, fearful not to feel the terrifying pain once more. He looked around at the compete nothingness in which he now existed. No colour, no features, nothing, just an infinite expanse of empty greyness stretching to the drab horizon in every direction. He shuddered involuntarily, a sudden ache of acute loneliness grasped hold of him as raw, bleak memory came flooding back. He remembered the coffin, the spell, those cruel eyes taking such delight in his torment but he could not begin to understand what had happened since.

Feeling lost and unsure, he did what he had always done in such situations. "Astrid!" he called, his voice dull and distant and dead in the cavernous nothing that surrounded him. He called again trying to make himself sound more mighty but this place conspired to suck the vigour, consume the life out of him; make him small. He shivered again.

Then, he thought he saw a light, one small candle flame flickering bravely in the gloom. He blinked and it was gone but then it reappeared this time a little stronger. He watched for an extraordinarily long period of time as the light gained strength and moved towards him.

He grinned slightly as the light spoke a familiar greeting in her German accent. "Hey," she said simply.

"Astrid! What the fuck? Where am I?" he asked, brimming full of curiosity suddenly as if her presence had brought him energy in this bleak void. "Why are you just a light? Where's your body?"

She tutted impatiently but her voice brought the warmth and fondness of caring to the sterile place. "Too many questions, my brave one." 

"But...."

She cut him off. "This place has many names, purgatory, limbo, mania, perdition, the void of indifference, but all you need to know is you are safe here, for a while at least." The light that was Astrid flickered disconcertingly as she spoke. "Do you remember what happened?" 

Quinn nodded slowly. "There is a Jihadist flag over my head, I can't let that stand."

"You were very courageous." Astrid continued, "But I had to bring you here to save you, to save us both."

"Thank you," Quinn replied plainly.

The light blinked dazzlingly. "It was my pleasure. It has always been my pleasure, my dear Prince."

Quinn pulled himself stiffly to his feet, ignoring the waves of pain that washed through his bruised body. He turned around on the spot, peering into the gloom. "So how do we get the fuck out of here?"

As if to answer his query, a roll of thunder echoed in the distance, followed by a bright flash of lightening as something evil stirred.

"We have little time," Astrid said, "I hold the storm clouds of the spell at bay but I cannot do so for long and you have a choice to make. Come with me."

Without question Quinn followed the light through the gathering darkness. There was no sense of time within the void and he had no idea for how long he walked but as he did so the aches in his battered body seemed to lessen. Eventually he became aware of another light, this one far weaker than Astrid's, so weak it appeared only at the edge of his vision when he stared hard.

"Your girlfriend," Astrid said by way of explanation.

"My.....what?" Quinn was running as fast as he could and as he neared the light he realised it was a head of golden hair. "Carrie!" he cried. Reaching her, he gathered up her lifeless body in his arms and buried his face into her chest. After a few moments tears moistened his eyes as he looked up at Astrid's light.

"What is she doing here?"

"Souls come here for many reasons. She is lost, desolate, alone. Why would she not come to the void of indifference seeking an escape from her own personal world of pain?"

Quinn looked on her face, reached down and with an immensely loving gesture, gently brushed a rogue shock of hair away. "Why is she lost?" he asked.

"She believes she has lost her true love."

"Me?" he stiffened, an unmistakeable hint of hope in his voice.

"No, my Prince." Astrid responded sadly. "Brody."

Quinn let out a strained breath, looked away and gulped as he blinked back tears, the muscle on his jaw flexing. For the first time he allowed himself to think the unthinkable; that Carrie would never understand what he felt for her, that he would be done and they would never happen.

Astrid noting his anguish, pulled him back to the present. Now was not the time for doubt. "I am sorry but my power is not strong. We have to be quick, the storm is returning and I can save only one of you." She continued, her voice betraying the urgency of her concern.

"But what about you, Astrid?" Quinn asked, sniffing back his emotion and uncertainty, finding his cocky swagger and clinging to it hard as he concentrated on his friend.

She scoffed. "Jihadist magic is not powerful enough to hold me. I shall make my own way home but it will take time, I need to find where I parked my VW. The car parks in this place all look the goddamn same. And time is what you do not have."

Quinn clenched his jaw, looked back down at Carrie. "There is no choice to make. How do I save her, Astrid?

The light twinkled more brightly. "You know, my Prince, you have always known. You simply must love her."

"Here?" 

"Everywhere."

Quinn nodded. "That's not hard," he muttered. "But should I really be taking advantage of her here, while she's like this?"

Astrid snorted impatiently. "It's a goddamn fairy tale, Peter. Stuff like this happens all the time!" 

He rolled his eyes in acknowledgement of the wisdom of the Kickass Fairy Queen's words and bent to place a tentative first kiss on Carrie's pink lips.

She stirred. Soft, warm grey eyes opened and looked up at him in cloudy confusion. A pale moon face, full and forthright smiled slightly as she adjusted her position beneath him and she let out a long sigh. It was not a sound of fulfilment but one of deep arousal, permeated with the potent promise of passion to come.

He felt his mouth crinkle into a similar smile as he shifted to a more appropriate position, the tense muscles of his arms, holding his aching body above her, rippled in anticipation. Rivers of sweat sprang up and meandered along the undulation and definition of his spine as his sinews stretched, tight to breaking. He leaned in closer, breathing in the scent of her, rose petal and rain laid only barely across disorder and despair, her wanting for an escape, ripe and ready. He licked her nose once and she drew in a breath appreciatively so he moved lower. The hard nub of her nipple in his mouth, taking his time with purposeful restraint, sucking at it as if to taste the sweetness within, he felt her whole being quiver eagerly beneath him and deep inside he felt his own body strain to answer her call. He had waited so long for this.

He looked into her vacant eyes as the spark of comprehension flamed in them and moving up kissed her sweet lips once more. She was coming to life beneath him, blooming like a spring flower after the winter fear, so ready and he entered her gently, moving his hips only minutely. She groaned again with wanting and something more. But as their eyes met, he saw the unmistakeable sadness deep within that she could not hide. How many times had she come to this place in pain? How many times had the mania and craziness of her condition driven her to seek solace here? How many tears had she cried, alone and afraid, and how many more would she cry in the uncertain future that hung over them both?

As if to bring physical truth to his thoughts a beautifully sculptured tear gathered at the side of her eye and threaded its uneven way across her porcelain cheek. Fear flushed the sadness from her face then as her instinct for self preservation set in. For a moment, caught off guard, unexpectedly woken from her deep misery and understanding little, she had allowed herself to wallow in the pleasure of his embrace, to forget the horror of her existence and to accept the gift of simple love he offered. For a moment, but only for one moment. And now the fear and loss of confidence was once more written bold in the contrition on her face.

He smiled reassuringly. Resting on one arm he lifted his other and ran his hand to gently stroke her long blonde hair, pushing it softly away from her face again so it cascaded on to the ground like a sleek, satin fan.

"It's OK," he mused. "We're not so very different you and me."

She let out an anxious breath, trying to relax, face made even more beautiful by her concern, not seeing clearly, not fully understanding what any of this meant, but reading with relief his softness. Something in the empathy in him connected deep inside and a fork of memory flashed through her bringing her comfort and more; waking the warrior deep in her soul who had slumbered too long.

"Doesn't matter," he whispered as he began to gently thrust again, nuzzling and licking around her ear. "What's gone and what's to come, it doesn't matter. We have only now."

All about them the thunder rolled as if the sky was cracking open, lit by flashes of blinding lightening that followed the doom laden crashes. The potent spell, long years in the making, strengthening still, famished and angry, roared in frustration as it ruthlessly sought its victim.

She clung to him then with a longing powered by the very madness of her soul and which she would never reveal to another. But here in his arms, even the noise and clamour of the storm, the danger that stalked them, was not strong enough to pierce through the cocoon that their lovemaking made. In those few short moments she trusted his words and forgot all else. She allowed herself to love this dark stranger in the way it should be between a man and a woman. She accepted what he offered, felt it reinvigorate her soul, give her life once more. And it was a joyous union.

When it was done he groaned softly as he eased away, she looked up at him with pure and simple gratitude. She felt suddenly alive in a way she had not felt for a very long time. Now the hazy confusion was gone, the myopic vagueness of her condition focusing into sharp detail. She squinted to see the face of the man that had made her feel this way but his features remained lost in the darkness, silhouetted against the light behind him, she could make out nothing of substance.

"Please," she whispered. "Who......"

And then the howling strength of the storm was renewed a thousand times as the Kickass Fairy Queen's power faltered, the darkness gathered and swirled around them as a living malevolent being. Branches of blackness reaching out to pluck at them, to suck them in and Carrie's fear increased as the white noise in her mind screamed once more and crazy chaos threatened to take her. His strong arms held her tightly and pulled her gently forward into him, as he held her for one last time. And in the calm confidence of his deep kiss she sensed the yearning need for her that lived deep in his soul. "It was always about you," he whispered in her ear so she heard it even above the banshee wail of the wind.

Then his arms, the strongest she had ever known, released her and he pushed her away, away from where the dark clouds gathered and the evil rose to claim its long promised reward. Away, towards the light on the headlands, steering her away from the very blackest rocks, toward safety.

And with that last touch he was gone, lost into the maelstrom, claimed by the darkness that swirled behind her. It had him now but his voice echoed after her, a beacon in the gathering doom, showing her the way home. "I loved you. Yours for always, now...."

The light filled her every cell, burning off the remaining clinging ribbons of fear and darkness that still sought to claim her. Soon they too disintegrated under the warmth that cleansed her with new life, with new hope and yet left the sad sweet memory of him. 

"Carrie?" Her sister Maggie's voice, full of concern came to her, pulling her back to her world.

She opened her eyes, blinking at the relative brightness, ignored the pain, tried to sit up but strong hands held her down. "Where is he?" she asked desperately, the deep need throbbing through her.

"Where's who?" Maggie asked.

"The man."

"What man?"

"He was here. He held me in his arms. He showed me the way back." Carrie gulped, her eyes flashing maniacally in the soft, spluttering candle light that she realised was actually not very bright at all.

Maggie shook her head in puzzlement.

"You don't understand," Carrie cried desperately. "He saved me. I left him there in darkness. I need to help him!"


	10. The Golden Dumpster

Nine days later.......

 

"What the fuck happened to your beard?" Carrie asked.

Berenson sniffed self-consciously stroking his lacklustre effort. "That fucking Fairy Queen happened. I should have sorted her out long ago. Mad bitch! Adal was a fool to contract for her services. Is she back yet?"

Carrie shook her head. "No sign of her since it happened, since the sun went black."

"Aaah, bless the common man," Berenson muttered conceitedly, "Is that what they are calling it? The day the sun went black?"

"That amongst other things: the day the world changed, the day hope was shattered, the day the Prince was found and lost again, the day the King finally went mad. You get the picture."

Berenson nodded. "Astrid'll be off licking her wounds somewhere like the she-wolf she is. Plotting how to get her beloved cub back." Berenson snorted. "Has he been found yet?"

"No. The whole country is out searching but it's fucking hard, only a matter of time though." Carrie moved to stand by the barred opening that served as a window in the tower room where Berenson was being held. He was far too important a prisoner to be kept in the dungeons and instead was being offered the relative luxury of a bed, a fire and his own chamber pot.

"Thank you for coming, Carrie. I knew I could rely on you." He shuffled nearer to her, reaching out a hand as if to comfort her. "I hear you have not been well."

She stepped back out of his reach. "I'm perfectly fine," she responded in a voice riddled by barely controlled emotion.

"You are taking your meds, aren't you?"

Carrie snorted but said nothing, just continued to stare out of the window. 

Berenson hesitated, then shrugged and continued on with his own priorities, his fatherly duties obviously observed in his own mind at least. "There are things we need to discuss in complete confidence."

"Such as?" She looked back at him, interested despite herself.

"I have made a deal with Queen Alison. I will be out of here by midnight. The new gaoler, Dennis Duck Boyd, is a far more amenable guy than that foreigner they had before. I knew his wife, Martha, in my youth although she was far more grounded in following procedures, it has to be said. Duck is great, clearly sees what needs to be done. I could buy his soul for a donut!"

"There was a time when you hunted ducks, not made friends with them!" Carrie scoffed.

Berenson ignored the dig and continued in earnest. "We are worried for the King's deteriorating mental health. As you said earlier everybody knows he is not well and unfortunate recent events have made him worse. It may become necessary, over the next few days, for the Queen to take control."

"That's treason." Carrie replied bluntly.

"No. It is acting for the good of the Kingdom. We want you on board."

"I am beginning to believe you have planned this all along. It's just the sort of ridiculous, elongated strategy that is bound to fail but miraculously succeeds against all the odds that you would come up with to get what you want. But the answer is still no and will remain that way. The King may have his faults but he is still the King."

"We're prepared to offer you complete autonomy Carrie. Design your own missions, pick your own team."

"Not interested. Sorry."

"Mind telling me why? I think I deserve an explanation." Berenson was barely holding on to his temper.

Carrie turned away from him. "I'm not that person anymore."

"You've saved hundreds of lives."

"I got lucky."

"Luck had nothing to go with it. You're being selfish."

Carrie stiffened. Her eyes narrowed as she stared uncompromisingly at her father, clearly stung by his words. "Really? Selfish - that's what you think?"

"I think you know better than anyone how to fight these guys."

"That's the thing, I don't. I have no idea."

"Then help us. Help me. Come up with a new paradigm."

Carrie released a long, deep sigh and setting her jaw stubbornly, shook her head.

"Goddamn it Carrie. I need you."

"And I told you I'm not that person any more." She wheeled on her heel, taking in the sparse surroundings and suddenly the enormity of what he was asking her hit hard. "What happened to you. When did you become such a pussy cat?" 

Berenson took a step back from her sudden aggression."I think you should leave now," he ordered shutting the conversation down.

"With pleasure." She stared into his face and waved her arms in a frustrated gesture of farewell. "Fuck this shit!"

As she exited she walked straight into Virgil and Max in the corridor outside. Virgil rolled his eyes. "Another fine father and daughter bonding session?" he quipped.

"Shut the fuck up," Carrie snapped back, her eyes still flashing with anger. "What do you want anyway?"

"You."

"Why?"

"They've found the Prince."

 

********************************************

 

The sky was still black. Not the smooth, deep velvet black of a starry night made poignant by the promise of romance to come, but the fearsome black of the swirling maelstrom from the bleakest winter storm. It had been that way for days, since the spell had smashed into them destroying everything in its path. The darkness pressed down on them, stifling all joy, all life, leeching away the brightness and colour so that everything was painted a depressing shade of featureless grey. The sun did not shine, powerless to pierce through the smothering cloud. There was no birdsong nor lowing of cows in the meadow for the birds and the animals had fled. All that remained was the people, exhausted and scared, clutching at their daily routines in desperation, hiding behind the mundanity to stop themselves from thinking about what was happening in this new normal. And everywhere, in every lingering shadow, the fear lived and grew, searching for ways to enter and desecrate even the staunchest of hearts.

Alone Aasar had fought against the despondency, forcing himself on, forcing himself to keep searching, for he had made a promise to his friend and no matter what the cost, he would see it though. Exhausted and heartsick, he had finally been rewarded when he had come across two men on the road struggling with a battered old cart pulled by two awkward-as-hell mules and carrying a glass coffin. 

The two men introduced themselves as Hussein, 'the Good Man' and Qasim, 'the Not Quite Sure if I am a Good Man but after Meeting the Trash Prince Trying very Hard to be One', which was a bit of a mouthful in any language! They explained they had been unable to stop the Jihadists casting the spell, but had waited until the terrorists left and then taken the coffin and its valuable contents, in the hope that they could at least return the Trash Prince's body back to his grieving father.

Being a knight and a born leader, Aasar immediately took control of the situation. He sent word back to Gansa's Folly and had a whole detachment of troops escort the body, still in the glass coffin but now on a more suitably ornate carriage back to the castle.

It was the final steps of this procession that Carrie was in time to see as she made her way down to the shiny, cobble streets that wound their way through Gansa's Folly and up to the castle drawbridge. It was a magnificent sight. Each of the escort, mounted on sturdy chargers, bedecked in full ceremonial uniform with lethal weapons shining at their waists, carried a flaming torch, burning courageously and throwing light outwards as if to hold the threatening darkness at bay. 

All of the kingdom's folk had gathered along the streets, standing in hushed silence and dignified honour for the Prince they had lost. Many had brought white lilies to symbolise sympathy, majesty and purity and threw them on to the road in front of the carriage, sweet honeyed scent floated intoxicatingly heavy on the air as the pollen was released by the crush of the wheels. The procession seemed to float over a bed of flowers, bringing an ethereal quality to an already emotionally overcharged experience. Tears flowed like rain and every heart was heavy.

King Adal his flinty face hard and unreadable, stood on the steps of the castle. He watched dry-eyed, proudly erect, as the coffin was carried passed but he had to be helped up the steps by Lockhart to follow it as his legs seemed to lose all strength and he wobbled unsteadily. Behind him Queen Alison, as cold and distant as the North Pole, looked on.

Once in the throne room, with the greatest of care the Trash Prince's body was finally taken from the glass coffin and moved to lay in state in a magnificent golden dumpster which had been especially made for the occasion. It had been filled with more white lilies, their exquisite perfume even more potent than in the fresher air outside added to the overwhelming sensation of sorrowful loss that permeated through the room which once, long ago, had been filled with such hope following the Prince's birth.

The King stepped forward and looked down on to the heartbreakingly unfamiliar face of the Trash Prince. His eyes, dulled with despair, traced across the Prince's razored cheekbones, the firm, strong jaw and the truly great bedroom hair game, made all the more wonderful by the way the dark, spiky locks rested on the soft pillow and contrasted with the gold of the dumpster and the white of the flowers which framed it. Adal gulped, wondering what was the colour of his son's eyes, now hidden behind long delicate lashes, closed in deathly sleep. It was that thought that unmanned the old King entirely, cutting through the fraying thread of sanity that he had been clinging to. He let out the most horrendous keen of defeat and threw himself on to the dumpster beside the Prince, burying his face deep into Peter's chest.

"My son, my son," he cried.

Lockhart, Aasar and Carrie rushed forward to try to prise him away but they could do little; it was an impossible task to console the inconsolable.

 

*************************************************

 

"They're shopping for my replacement, obviously nobody tells me anything any more," Lockhart said miserably. "It all happened on my watch, a real barrel of monkeys. So I was kind of hoping we could work together on this."

They were seated in the wizard's luxurious suite of rooms in the castle. Virgil and Max listened intently by the roaring fire, both eager for some action.

Carrie regarded Lockhart with a sympathetic gaze. "I don't know what you think I can do to help." Since her interview with her father and the return of the sleeping Trash Prince earlier in the day, she had been unable to think clearly. Her head was a mess, unsure of her next move, her only real desire was to find the man who had saved her.

"Well you remember Quinn?"

Carrie looked blank. "Who?"

"Quinn, the woodcutter's son," Lockhart repeated patiently.

"Oh him. Vaguely I guess, we hung out for awhile in the forest, I think."

"Well it turns out, he's actually the Trash Prince."

Carrie snorted in disappointment. "I know, I saw that, un-fucking-believable!"

"And you know the Jihadists have enacted their curse from long ago. He's sleeping now and we can't wake him up."

"Yeah, I saw that too. Saw the King's reaction." She shook her head sadly. "Look I'd really like to help but I'm kind of busy at the moment," she responded.

"Busy?" Lockhart replied. "What can be more important than the welfare of the current and the future sovereigns of the realm?"

"Well, apart from the fact that the King is threatening to execute my father?" she scoffed. "You won't understand."

"Try me!"

"Well, it's kind of weird really. This guy came to me in a dream when the darkness threatened and pushed me back to the light. Kind of saved me. I have to find him!"

"She thinks it was Brody," Virgil disclosed with a weary shrug.

"Brody?" Lockhart repeated in astonishment. "But he's dead."

"His body was never found," Carrie argued. "And I think I saw his red hair through the confusion."

Max rolled his eyes silently.

"How many people do you know who can survive a hanging?" Virgil retorted.

"You don't know he was hanged." Carrie ran her hand neurotically through her hair. "We have only Roya Hammond's word. What's to say he won't reappear at any minute? Won't just walk back into my life? He deserves at least that we consider the possibility."

"He casts a long shadow," Lockhart said, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Is this going to be an on going problem between us?"

Carrie snorted, bit her lip and looked away. There was silence for a few moments.

"Look," Lockhart was getting exasperated. "I was cross with our friends again today and the Queen made me promise transparency, teamwork, aah, there was another t, I forget what the fuck it was. Anyway I need your help to sort this out."

There was a knock at the door. "I'll get it," Carrie said.

She opened the door to be confronted by a middle aged man, hair greying at the temples but his features distinguished and handsome. "Carrie?" he asked in a strangely accented voice which reminded her of the Kickass Fairy Queen's.

"Who wants to know?"

He held out his hand to shake hers. "You really are amazing. I am Otto Boring. I was waiting for you Carrie, waiting for you to open the door."

Carrie frowned, looked passed the new arrival to see if there was anybody else with him. "OK, now I'm a little lost," she said.

Boring looked at her in earnest before continuing. "I want a partner, someone who knows the world how it is but also someone who knows we should make it better. Someone to share my life with."

Carrie stared at him for a long, silent minute. "Fuck off!" She spat and slammed the door shut in his startled face.

Lockhart rolled his eyes. "Does that happen to you a lot?"

"What?"

"An ambiguous proposal from a random stranger completely out of the blue?"

Virgil chuckled. "She does have her moments!" he muttered.

Carrie snorted dismissively. "Only once or twice a month. Now, maybe I should at least try to help with this. Let's get back to the plan."

"What plan?" Lockhart's frustration returned with a despairing vengeance "There's no plan. No one wants this. Not us. Not the King. Not Berenson especially not Berenson! So you tell me. What do we do?"

"Tell me again what was foretold at the time of the Prince's birth. The exact words," Carrie asked.

Lockhart took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes nervously. "Abu Nazir proclaimed that before the sun sets on the child's fortieth birthday, he would breathe of the darkest magic and die. And then your father intervened to change the spell so that instead of dying, Peter would fall into a deep sleep from which he could only be awakened by true love's first kiss."

Carrie had been pacing along the floor, biting her thumb but she stopped. "That's it then!" she exclaimed triumphantly.

"That's what?" Virgil asked.

"The answer of course!"

"What is?" Lockhart looked as confused as Virgil and Max.

"D'ooh," Carrie scoffed. "All we have to do is find out who his true love is and get her to kiss him! Who was his girlfriend?"

Lockhart shrugged. "How should I know? I didn't even know who he was until nine days ago."

"Well, it shouldn't be too hard to find out. Virgil, Max get on it. We can have this thing sorted and then I can find the guy who saved me."

Virgil beamed. "Already done," he said, reaching in his back pocket for his notebook. "Remember you asked us to check Quinn out when you met him?"

"I did, didn't I?" Carrie said in surprised triumph. "Sometimes my efficiency surprises even me! What you got?"

Virgil squinted at the paper trying to decipher his own writing. "Quinn the woodcutter's son..."

"You mean Peter, the Trash Prince," Lockhart cut in.

"Whatever!" Carrie snorted impatiently.

"Has two 'girlfriends'." Virgil made speech mark signs with his fingers.

"Two?" Carrie looked quite shocked. "Really?"

"He's a good looking guy," Virgil said. Max nodded in agreement.

Carrie looked unconvinced. "You think? Can't say I ever really looked."

"Who are they?" Lockhart was getting exasperated again.

"Oh yeah," Virgil returned to his notebook. "Eden the milkmaid, nice jugs as I recall, and Julia, the constable's daughter, pretty little thing but quite clingy."

"There you are!" Carrie pronounced. "It must be one of those two. We'll just get them to kiss him, he wakes up, big party and then I can concentrate on important things. It couldn't be easier!"


	11. The Snog Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bumper chapter is dedicated to those wonderful readers who have consistently and very helpfully commented on this work throughout the writing process. NB: Your names have been changed to protect the-not-so innocent. See if you can work out who is who!

 

Four days later........

 

"I'm missing something here," Carrie groaned dejectedly.

She was sitting in Lesli Linka Platters with Virgil, Max and Lockhart and although the food was as dramatic and well directed as usual, nobody had the heart to really tuck into it with gusto. It had been a tough and depressing four days.

It had started so well. Max and Virgil easily tracking down both Eden and Julia and both had agreed to kiss the Trash Prince without argument. In fact both women had been eager to participate in the exercise, saying how much they felt for Quinn, that he was a really nice guy, sexy too and they would do anything they could to help him. Neither even seemed upset when they learnt about the other. In fact after they had kissed him and been unsuccessful, they both retired to the False Glimmer to sink a few pints together and share their memories of the man.

Carrie had cocked an eyebrow at their strange behaviour but such thoughts were quickly pushed aside by their failure and what had to happen next. It took some convincing both the King, who had retired to a darkened room with waffles and tears and Lockhart who was stomping around swearing a lot but eventually they both agreed and the summons was sent out to all corners of the Kingdom.

Being very much an equal opportunities sort of girl, Carrie did not pinpoint the rich and powerful. Oh no, every woman, married, single or otherwise in the Kingdom was instructed to attend the throne room of the castle in order to place one kiss on the lips of the sleeping Trash Prince. It was overkill Carrie knew but what else could they do? The women folk of the Black Ops Kingdom were a reliable, stoic bunch and they answered the call with characteristic enthusiasm (well let's face it who wouldn't?!) and soon, pleasantly expectant, but still acutely aware of the tragic circumstances (which actually made it all so much more romantic!) they formed a line around the block to do their civic duty. And what heart, from the eldest grandmother to the youngest maiden, did not quicken just a little with the thought that their kiss may be the one that opened the beautiful Prince's eyes?

But four days, an interminable amount of spittle and lip pouting later, and still the Prince lay oblivious and senseless, a prisoner to the darkest spell. Growing more desperate and frustrated with every kiss, Carrie, Lockhart, Max and Virgil had retired to Lesli Linkas which it has to be said was rocking with all these X chromosomes in town, to try to find inspiration. Aasar, possibly a little afraid of all these ladies abroad without male accompaniment and taking the opportunity to party despite the circumstances, had declined the invitation. He stayed at the castle to stand guard over the golden dumpster and the Prince within.

Bored with chasing the food around her plate, Carrie stared around the restaurant. She let out a shriek of sudden surprise and stood as she saw a familiar figure pushing his way through the giddy crowd towards their table. "Jonas? It's good to see you." She beamed in brilliant welcome. "It feels like forever."

"Oh no," Virgil muttered under his breath."Not Jonas the Wise. Not now!" Max's head dropped to his hands.

"What?" Lockhart asked. Virgil just shook his head slowly. "Not another fucking random marriage proposal?" The wizard asked in disbelief to no one in particular.

The new arrival smiled tightly. "It does. Look Carrie....."

She was across the room, throwing herself into his somewhat startled arms and planting a passionate kiss on his lips which lasted a good two minutes. When she finally came up for air, she said, "So why can't we just pick up where we left off? I want another chance. I think we can do better."

"Look I'm sorry...." Jonas began.

Carrie stiffened."You're sorry," she repeated warily.

"This is not easy for me either." Jonas looked most uncomfortable. "Carrie I'm doing us both a favour. Can't you see? It will never work. It was a crazy idea to begin with."

"No, not the 'c' word," Virgil gasped and closed his eyes in trepidation. "She did take her meds today didn't she?" he whispered. Max nodded but his miserable face was a picture of impending doom.

Carrie reacted as if she had been physically struck, violently recoiling from Jonas. "Oh so now I'm crazy," she spat.

Lifting his arms in a useless fanning, placating motion, Jonas squeaked. "I didn't say that."

"It's gonna get ugly!" Virgil breathed. Lockhart's gaze was bobbing between him and Carrie as if the wizard was watching some agonisingly tense tennis match.

"I'm not crazy, Jonas." Carrie's voice was granite hard, dangerous as dynamite.

"We're not talking about the same thing." Jonas could not meet her eye, instead he was casting about for relief elsewhere but there was none.

"I'm talking about loving you and being loved." The volume of her voice had increased and it wavered unstably close to breaking. Everyone in the place had stopped what they were doing to watch this juicy piece of drama 

"Carrie, you're shouting!" Virgil hissed.

Carrie ignored him. "What are you talking about?" she pressed Jonas.

Jonas took a deep breath, gulped, glanced around him at all the inquisitive eyes widely regarding him and said finally. "I'm talking about the goddamn shirt I gave you. I want it back."

There was an audible outlet of breath from the masses and a shaking of heads. "Bastard!" A female voice shouted from a table nearby.

"Just give it back, please." Jonas finished with a weak plea and a hopeful but pathetic smile.

Carrie stared at him, nostrils flaring, body shaking, eyes raging. "Oh god!" Virgil muttered getting ready to leap in if necessary.

She ran her hand through her hair, scoffed and turned a full three hundred and sixty degree revolution on the spot. Finally with great dignity she peeled the hoody off and disdainfully flung it in Jonas' general direction.

"Carrie, I...." he began taking a hesitant step towards her.

"No, no, no, I don't want that. I won't allow it," she said. "Just fuck off!"

Jonas grabbed the fallen article of clothing and exited the establishment with a reddening face yet a somewhat relieved air, followed by hoots and boos from most of the female clientele.

Lockhart shook his head. "Jesus fucking Christ, can we just focus here please?" he asked.

Carrie sniffed, her jaw inching perilously close to wobbling as tears sprang into her eyes. Virgil moved to envelope her in a big hug. "Come on Carrie," he encouraged. "We got work to do. You still got a puzzle to solve here."

She allowed herself to be gently led back to the table. Around them the buzz of the restaurant picked up again.

"Maybe I should go off my meds," Carrie suggested.

"Well...." Lockhart began.

At the same time Virgil said. "No, definitely not!"

"There's this point, this window, when you've got all that crazy energy but you're still lucid, you're still making sense. And that's always when I did my best work." Carrie continued.

Lockhart looked impressed but Virgil shook his head vigorously as did Max. "No Carrie. Definitely not," he repeated.

They sat in silence for a while. Around them Lesli Linka's was full of energy but it seemed to dissipate under a cloud as dark as the one outside when it reached their table. Finally Carrie said, "I wonder, is he gay?"

"Who?" Lockhart asked.

"Quinn, of course!" snapped Carrie.

"What?" Lockhart hissed looking shocked at the suggestion. "He's the heir to the Black Ops Kingdom. I don't think....."

"It's in his family," Carrie continued thoughtfully.

"I hardly think sexual preference is hereditary!" Lockhart narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean anyway?"

"The King and my father," Carrie replied.

Lockhart was gulping his drink and his disbelieving guffaw coming out hit the liquid going down to cause a choking, drowning whirlpool of liquid and air that sprayed forth from the Grand Wizard's mouth like an ornate fountain in the castle gardens. Just to enhance the affect Max hit him hard on the back as the Grand Wizard coughed and spluttered for breath. Finally Lockhart managed, rather thankfully, to get oxygen into his beerlogged lungs again as he rubbed the tears from his eyes.

"Oh come on," Carrie said after he had settled down. Max mutedly wiped the pool of spilt drink from the table. "Everybody knows. Berenson and the King have been having the greatest love affair in the Kingdom for years. How else could it have ended as horrifically as it has? Why else wouldn't Berenson give the Trash Prince back? Passion turns to bitter hatred so quickly and easily. 

"She's got a point," put in Virgil sagely.

"And if he is, the Trash Prince, a gay prince, I mean, we've been looking in the wrong place all along! We need to get all the men here!" Carrie stood up in a rush of frustrated action.

"No," Lockhart groaned, pulling at her. "Shit, I wish the Kickass Fairy Queen was here, you might listen to her! There is no evidence to suggest Quinn is gay. I think we are in danger of over-thinking this!"

Carrie groaned and sat down again. "Maybe it is just a Hail Mary," she muttered dejectedly.

"But we are running out of women!" Virgil said. "Every woman from the Black Ops Kingdom has kissed him now." He nodded to a group of smart, sophisticated ladies who were laughing loudly with excitement at a nearby table. "That lot have travelled miles!"

"Have they really?" Carrie said. Suddenly interested, all four of them moved to stand at the ladies' table.

The raucous giggling stopped as the girls turned to regard the newcomers. "Hi, I'm Cerasus001, can we help you?" the nearest one asked.

"Erm," Lockhart cleared his throat. "I'm the Grand Wizard..."

"Oh, we know who you are," said another offering her hand. "I'm Sheepie."

"We know who you all are," put in a third. "I'm Storyfinished, and we've come a long way to get here. 

"Hi," said Carrie, bemusedly reaching across to shake all the friendly hands. "Where are you guys from?"

"Oh, we're from all over the place but we met at a place called the Inter Web. I'm Plumeriarubraflower, by the way."

Lockhart recoiled. "Inter Web? Urgh, sounds like it's got spiders!"

"Cxh71 is me. You're a wizard, aren't you supposed to like that sort of thing?" said another lady, obviously amused.

Lockhart shuddered. "I've always hated those things, flunked that course at wizard school!"

"Oh dear, well you can relax, we have no spiders with us. Just a desire to help out and a good supply of lipstick!" soothed Cxh71. All the ladies laughed heartily. Clearly they were a happy bunch, enjoying their trip to the Black Ops Kingdom enormously.

"If you don't mind me saying," Carrie began. "You all have some weird accents and mighty strange names. What are you doing here?"

"Oh we've come to snog the Prince," T_Russianconfectionary said. "People are coming from miles away. Some good friends of ours, the classy, sassy vixens from Tumblr Wthomeland were here yesterday for a touch of princely tonsil massaging as well."

"Yes," agreed Catty_075. "We wouldn't miss it. It's not everyday you get to tongue wrestle with a prince, and this one is obviously the hottest one on the planet!"

Carrie looked sceptical. "You really think he's that hot? I can't see it myself."

"Open your eyes girl!" Shopboughtcoke spluttered. "Man is hotter than the Gold Coast in summer!"

"Hotter than red hot chilli pepper!" agreed Ncl23.

"And it's a beautiful face to suck!" put in Sheepie enthusiastically.

"Hell yeah, kiss that!" agreed Cerasus001.

Carrie remained unconvinced although she appeared to be, at least, considering the possibility.

"So have you been up to the castle yet?" Virgil asked.

A couple of the ladies said yes but more shook their heads. "We're waiting for a friend," Cxh71 explained. "Sweet Cherry Blossom is missing in action. Once she gets here we'll go up. 

Lockhart's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I could have sworn I saw you lot in there earlier today, laying some absolute smashers on the Prince."

"No!" They exchanged knowing looks and then all shook their heads in unison although a number of cheeks seemed to have a dishonest flush to them.

Lockhart snorted. "You do know it's only one go each, don't you?"

"Of course!" Plumeriarubraflower agreed, but there was something about the shady flash of her eyes that made Lockhart doubly wary.

"Well, enjoy your stay in Gansa's Folly!" Virgil said.

"Oh, we intend to!" T_Russianconfectionary responded with a truly naughty giggle that caused an uneasy shiver to run down the spines of all three men listening.

"See," Virgil said as they walked away. "Ladies are coming from miles. Even if we don't get the Trash Prince to wake up we could make a killing in the tourist trade. I wonder if now is the time to open that little guest house I've always dreamed about!" 

 

**********************************************************

 

It was difficult to tell the time with no sun. They were managing thanks to a new fangled invention of Jonas the Wise, called a clock, it ticked off the hours with annoying monotony but at least everyone knew when it was bedtime.

It was long past that now and Carrie was alone in the throne room. The kissing crowd of the day had dissipated, Aasar was having a well earned sleep after having to deal with so many emotionally distraught women (it was not covered in the Knight's Handbook which focused on altogether more easy stuff such as shining your armour, getting the correct colour plume for your helmet and decapitating an opponent in one mighty swipe.) and the castle guards were patrolling outside the hall's big wooden doors, barring anyone from entry.

There was just Carrie, alone with the sleeping Prince.

Above her the hugely expansive windows that opened to the sky, allowed in only more suffocating darkness. No twinkling stars studded the blackness above and the inkiness seemed to seep in long lingering fingers downwards, sinisterly lurking in all the shadowy corners of the hall. Carrie had heard stories of that golden days of the Prince's birth, a time of beauty and light, but she could not imagine this space as anything other than the gloomy, lamentable place it was now. Melancholy seemed to leech out of the walls and sadness float on the air. Death was all around, even the previously pretty lilies that filled the dumpster were fading and collapsing inwards, leaving only the sticky stain of their toxic pollen, becoming insidiously more harmful as they ceased to be.

Carrie shuddered as she sat down on the top step of the dais, knew it was a no smoking castle but really she needed a shot of nicotine and fast, so she lit up, leaned her head on the golden dumpster and tried to get ahold of all the crazy thoughts that were ricocheting around her head.

She was missing something, she knew. She had missed something once before, and she couldn't, wouldn't, allow it to happen again. She needed to analyse the recent events, work out what had happened and decide on the best possible course of action.

Imagine Jonas turning up like that and only wanting his coat back. She shivered, upset and embarrassed by her reaction to him. Why did she fall for it every time? In truth Jonas had only ever been rebound but still, when he showed up, ginger hair shining in the candlelight, medicated or not, she had been unable to resist, yet again.

She blew out smoke. Watched it rise languidly upwards toward the roof, envied it its escape route even if it was into darkness while she remained grounded in desperate confusion. Truth was she missed Brody. And as the name sparked across the neurons of her brain she felt an overwhelming rush of loss that translated into a physical need, so strong, so tangible. She closed her eyes, leaned back, remembering her nights with her Knight, the times they had enjoyed together and her mind came to rest on her last vision, the strength of his arms, the way he held her tighter than she had ever known, their love-making, the timbre of his voice, the beautiful words he spoke, the.......

....She sat up with a startled rush and a strangled cough as realisation hit her with a deep punch to the gut. "It was always about you," he had said. The man in her vision had said that. She knew with a deep certainty that Brody would not have said that. Brody, the self satisfied, selfish, parasite that he was, would never have said it! And now, when she really tried to remember she saw there had been very little joy between the two of them, very little sharing or mutual respect. It was always all about him from his facial ticks and ruthless temper through his clinging dysfunctional family to his egotistical love making. She snorted ruefully as the undeniable truth finally hit her; Brody was a bit of a dick really!

It was getting colder as night drew on and with no hoody, Carrie's shivering was getting more intense. She stood up, stamped on the cigarette butt, and glanced around the hall. The big fire grate was empty waiting for servants to set the fire early the next morning. Everywhere else was bare, hard, unwelcoming, there was no stray blanket or coat, there was nothing. Except, her eyes came to rest on the sleeping Prince. She moved to stand beside him, looking down wistfully on the serene face. Everybody else said he was beautiful. Those insane women at Lesli Linka's had positively lost their shit over him. Carrie looked, really looked at Quinn's face for the first time. His cheekbones were exceptional, finely chiselled like the work of a master craftsman, and the line of his jaw pure, strong and true. His hair, although obviously not the right colour, was lush and sort of attractive; only with great difficulty did she quash the urge to run her fingers through it. Maybe there was something there that she had been missing all along.

But there was more than physical attraction. She saw it now, a connection between them that she had never had with anyone before, not even Brody, especially not Brody! She remembered their interaction, the way Quinn had looked at her, that intensity in his ice blue eyes, like he could see right into her soul and he cherished what he saw there. He had told her she was fucking amazing, nobody had ever given her such a compliment before. He had fought for her, when he thought she was in danger, naked and unafraid against a fully armed Knight. Not to mention that he had sacrificed himself, given up to the jihadists so that she could go free. And, of course, he was the Trash Prince who had bravely accepted his fate in order to save his Kingdom.

Her teeth began to chatter. She looked down at the beautiful black hooded jacket the Prince was wearing. Looked snug and trendy. Surely he was warm enough and it really was getting cold in here. Checking there was nobody to see, she jumped up onto the dumpster and as quickly as she could (which was quite slowly - have you ever tried to get clothes off a stupefied man?) removed his jacket. It smelt like nothing Carrie had experienced before; tonka bean, iced mango, patchouli noir, Spanish sage, and silver armoise and she was compelled to bury her nose in it, taking long sniffs as she put it on and pulled it around her, snuggling into its instant warmth. She looked down at Quinn's face again and for the first time acknowledged to herself there was beauty there.

Slipping back down from the dumpster, a wave of sorrow washed through her as she realised now he was lost to her forever. They could have been great friends, colleagues, kicking ass together, solving all the Kingdom's problems, fighting Jihadists together. How had she missed his value? Why had she been blinded by Brody? Why had it all gone wrong 

She reached forward, rang a finger longingly across his face, wistfully traced the distinct ridge of his cheekbone, allowed it to brush over his tousled hair. "If only the circumstances had been wildly different, my Prince," she whispered.

All the futility and pointlessness of the past days seemed to well into a massive wave of frustration inside her. As it rushed forward, searching for an escape, she felt a tremendous sadness and need to change things, to make them right. She took hold of Quinn's hands, squeezed them tightly as if to imbue life into their porcelain paleness, peered desperately into his face searching for signs of life. "Quinn....Quinn it's me Carrie," she said "I need you to open your eyes now, OK? Can you hear me? It's really important you wake up. I need to talk to you. Listen to my voice, follow it to the surface. I'm here waiting for you. Quinn, Quinn look at me. Can you hear me?"

But for all her pleading and praying there was no response, the Trash Prince remained untouchable, imprisoned in his own silent world. Carrie stood up. Moved away from him, hugging her arms across her chest, tears starting to roll down her cheeks and chin wobble, as despair claimed her. She knew with heartbreaking certainty she could not save him.

Suddenly there was a loud bang and a blinding flash of light, followed by a screeching of tyres and the room was filled with the smell of burning rubber and exhaust fumes.

"Ah, there you are, Carrie." Kickass Fairy Queen Astrid appeared a touch less serene than normal it had to be said, her hair was falling in willowy ringlets from her ponytail, her dress was crumpled and she had a smudge of engine oil across her cheek but she was still feisty as hell. "Thought I'd never get through the traffic," she said.

"Astrid?" Carrie said. "Where have you been?" Quickly followed by, "It's all gone to shit!"

Astrid took in the room. "Yes, I can see that. Nice jacket by the way, bit long in the sleeves though."

"I've done everything I can to save him. But I can't. Poor Peter he would hate this, it's his worse nightmare. Is there anything you can do?"

"No," Astrid responded crisply. "I told him I could not bring him back. He accepted that. 

"Then I can't let this go on any longer," Carrie said allowing her anguish and despair to make the decision for her. She bent, picking up one of the lily-pollen stained pillows that had fallen out of the dumpster and been discarded on the cold floor and advanced towards the Prince with a determined but ambiguous set to her jaw.

"What are you doing, Carrie?" Astrid demanded.

"Finishing it as he would want!" Carrie raised the pillow over the beautiful face, bit her lip bravely and prepared herself.

"Scheisse!"Astrid cursed. "Put the pillow down and move away from the dumpster. Now!"

"But..... 

"Now! You really have no idea, do you?"

"About what?"

"Sit down. Give me a cigarette and I'll explain it to you as your legendary insight seems to have taken the week off. But remember," Astrid cast a jaundiced eye towards the motionless figure in the dumpster. "I'm not doing this for you."

"Yes, I think we're clear on that!" Carrie spat back.

The two women sat together and smoked silently for a while and the antagonism between them dissipated, swallowed up by the malignant blackness which seemed to be deepening around them. Even the spluttering candles, flickering bravely in their iron stands, seemed to be getting progressively dimmer as the dwindling light was sucked from the hall.

Finally Astrid said, "So you have done everything you can for him? So much so that the pillow is your last and only option?" Carrie nodded miserably as Astrid continued. "All the women from the Black Ops Kingdom plus a few wild ones from around the world. All tried and all failed?"

Carrie nodded. "So now I'm thinking maybe he is gay." she ventured.

Astrid chuckled, blew a perfect smoke ring and responded. "No, Peter's not gay."

"Then who is she? Who can give him true loves first kiss?"

"What if I told you that every woman in the Kingdom has not kissed him? What if I told you one still remains? 

Carrie snorted. "I would rush to......" She stopped. "You?" she asked distrustfully.

Astrid chuckled again. "No not I. I have told you I cannot break the spell." She flicked ash nonchalantly on to the floor. "Besides I have kissed Peter many times!" She disclosed with an unconcerned shrug.

Carrie tried hard to fight down the shocking green dagger of envy that cut through her heart at such an admission. "But you can't have!" She spluttered like the candles as Astrid's eyebrows rose in a knowing and very annoying fashion. "What are you not telling me?" Carrie demanded, fighting down her jealousy.

"Think Carrie. Who got so involved in the arrangement of all this, that she forgot to take her turn for the kiss? Who has kissed just about every other man on this whole planet but never Peter?"

"Me?" Carrie scoffed. She shook her head. "That's ridiculous. It cannot be me." Astrid's brows went even further skyward and didn't look like they would be coming down any time soon. "But I love Brody," Carrie continued.

Astrid snorted. "And you were sitting here in the dark convincing yourself of just that when I came in?"

Carrie shook her head. "Maybe not," she conceded.

"Have you kissed the Prince. Have you at least tried?" Astrid pushed.

"No but......"

"Why don't you try then? If it doesn't work, what's the worse that could happen; you maybe get herpes?" Astrid chortled to herself as she flicked the remains of her cigarette straight into the fireplace a good twenty metres away.

"It's not that. Actually I'm afraid of what happens if it does work." Carrie disclosed, tears of honestly sparkling in her eyes.

"Oh," Astrid murmured in understanding. She took in a deep breath. "If it works the sun comes out, the King stops drowning in his tears, the Black Ops Kingdom gets its Prince back. What's not to like?" She shrugged. "Maybe you get what you want, what you need too." She reached over to take hold of Carrie's hand and squeezed it supportively. "Blunt, impulsive Carrie, never stops to think of the consequences, just bravely does what is necessary. Are you not wondering why you hesitate now? Why you fear? Does that not tell you something important Carrie?"

"Because it feels......" Carrie wavered.

"....different?" Astrid asked. Carrie nodded. "Maybe that's the point." Astrid lifted her hand, helped Carrie to her feet. "Come on," she said "Let's do this."

"Oh dear god, did I do this to him?" Carrie hesitated grief stricken as she stood over the sleeping Prince. "I have not looked after him, not like I should. Not like he looked after me." she said. 

Astrid laid a reassuring hand on her shoulders and said, "Quinn never did anything he didn't want to, that's the truth. He was a complete pain in the ass that way. Stubborn as a mule, beautiful too."

Carrie nodded, sniffed back her tears. Then, taking the deepest breath of her life, she bent down and chastely placed a gentle, girlish kiss on Quinn's fragile pale lips.

Nothing happened.

"It was worth a try," Carrie said shoulders sagging in defeat as she stepped back.

"Wait," Astrid instructed 

They waited for long agonising seconds. And then, just as Astrid was beginning to wonder if she had read the wrong script, a trace of pale rose pink seemed to bud bringing colour to Quinn's lifeless lips. As they watched, mesmerised, very slowly it blossomed outward, bringing animation, life, wherever it flowered across his face and beyond. His body shuddered, slightly at first but the movement grew more pronounced with each shiver. Astrid and Carrie exchanged excited glances, tears in both their eyes brimming over to roll unashamedly down their cheeks.

Finally following a violent shudder that rocked his whole body, Quinn's eyes, ice blue and yet hot as the sun, opened. For a second his features crumpled with confusion and then his eyes focused and he looked up into the familiar face of his true love and he understood.

"Fuck. Me," he growled.

Thrilled, Carrie at last recognised his voice as that of the man from her vision. The man who had saved her and she too understood. She gave him the most outrageously suggestive smile that he had ever seen. It sent rivers of hot lusty lava thrumming through his reawakening body.

In a voice made husky with wanting she said, "Maybe, just maybe, I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stoked to get 100 kudos. Many thanks!


	12. Happily Ever After?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so my chums we come to the end, no pressure thankfully as HL finales are always crap!

The next day the sun burst exuberantly into the brilliant sapphire Black Ops sky and the cockerels of the kingdom, conspicuous by their absence over the preceding days, reacted to it like a long lost and very dear friend with an enthusiastic if somewhat discordant greeting. Birds sang a cheerful dawn chorus, cows wandered through the meadow ready for milking and lowing softly, pretty flowers seemed to spring from the earth, green tree boughs decorated with young leafs swayed in the gentle breeze and bees buzzed suddenly industriously pollinating the plants with great vigour. In every corner of the land the darkness was gone, the swirling, suffocating dark clouds faded away, disappearing with the night. Everything was rejuvenated, pristine, sparkling and fresh like when a violent rain storm washes all things clean. Nature had re-asserted herself claiming back the world, ensuring goodness was triumphant and everything worked out in the end. 

The people woke with relief and gratitude as normality appeared to be restored. Everybody realised instinctively what this must mean. Soon folk were piling into the streets, chattering expectantly and making their way towards the castle gates. A lone church bell began to sound slicing through the pregnant morning air, gradually it was joined by others, coming together in a beautiful peel of celebration. Joy was in every heart, flags waved as the cheering began and the partying crowds grew giddy and giggly with excitement as they neared the castle walls.

In the throne room, Quinn opened his eyes with a soft groan, squinting at the brightness as the sunbeams danced merrily above, they happily span downwards from the upper windows bringing light and warmth and life that refracted throughout the once bleak room. He wrinkled his nose as the strong fragrance of lilies pushed its way into his consciousness, the sound of ringing bells drifted distantly on the air and his muscles cramped and exhausted from the night's action, although strangely euphoric, grumbled softly. All served to waken him thoroughly as he lay on his bed of flowers in the golden dumpster. 

It had been a torrid, hot and memorable night when their two solitary souls, volatile and aroused, had joined together to create an ethereal explosion of passion that had rocked the very world to its core. He had revelled in the thrill of her exquisite surrender, and her closeness; he still did. And after the fiery rapture had come the tranquil and the calm when her touch was everything and he held her in trembling arms, listening to the music of her breathing, the joyous poetic song of her heart, strong and rhythmic and perfect, so full of irresistible life. The profound revelation came to him in this quiet time between exultant crescendos, the sacred truth that complete satisfaction did not come from his own physical pleasure, although that had been truly awesome, but from bringing joy to the woman he had adored unconditionally and inexorably from the moment he had first set eyes on her.

He sensed her presence then, the very embodiment of love, sleeping safe, nestled like a kitten purring in the crook of his arm, her head pressed into his chest close to his own heart, slight and fragile with her iron core shrouded but not weakened by slumber, skin soft, hair cascading over his arm in a flaxen wave. He softly nuzzled his unshaven rough chin across the top of her head, breathing in her sweet scent; this felt like home. He hitched position slightly so he could look at her, without disturbing the beautiful scene, drinking her in like a thirsty man, without forsaking any of the still tingling icy fire points where his skin touched and connected with hers. When his eyes, wide in wonder at her loveliness, fell upon her face he felt his soul somersault with pure delight as his mouth, unbidden, creased into a smile that challenged the brilliance of the newly re-emerged sun beaming down from above.

He bent forward and kissed her gently on lips already swollen and ripe from the kisses he had showered on her throughout their night of intense ecstasy. She groaned softly, moved slightly but did not wake. He wondered if they could stay like this forever, cocooned in the warm afterglow of their lovemaking, cherished and entwined, together, unaware and unconcerned of where one finished and the other started; they were as one. And he realised at that moment that it had all been worth it, all the pain, all the fear, everything he had suffered, he would endure it all again, a thousand times over, to bring him to this place, to put her in his arms.

Her eyes opened, flashing with confusion and disorientation and then she smiled in relief, suddenly content as memories of the night before calmed her mind. "Quinn, oh thank God," she murmured. "Thank God, I was so worried about you."

"Hey," he responded, reaching across to gently comb a stray strand of golden hair away from her face. His eyes never leaving hers were intense and burning with bottomless, unquenchable desire. "Marry me," he whispered.

Carrie stiffened. "Shit, not another random marriage proposal," she muttered. 

"It's not random," Quinn responded firmly. "You are my true love. Your kiss awakened me when no other could." His eyes continued to drill into hers.

"Quinn, why are you looking at me like that?" Unable to bear the mesmerising, unrelenting question in his ice blue eyes, she looked away and gulped, shaking her head. "I'll just fuck it up."

"No, you won't," Quinn responded.

Carrie untangled herself from his embrace, breaking all contact, ran her hand through her hair neurotically and sat up. "I will... I do. I know how this goes. It ends badly."

Unable to endure the sudden loss of her touch, he reached towards her, laying a gentle supportive hand on her naked shoulder and saying with conviction. "Till it doesn't."

She looked back at him. "Come on, you know my shit."

He held her stare challengingly. "And you know mine."

"But you don't have my condition."

"I've seen you at your worst."

"You should be heading for the hills," she scoffed, incapable of stopping the shiver that ran through her vulnerable body, bereft and already missing the gentle intimacy and warmth of his closeness.

As if reading her need he tenderly pulled her back, turning her so he could look into her eyes again and say, "Look, it was ugly, it was a black hole.I don't want anything like that in my life ever again. I want to get out of this dumpster. Stay out."

"Yeah," she agreed.

"But I can't do it on my own. I've learnt that."

"Well, I haven't exactly been helpful," she shrugged, lying her own hand on his that still held her shoulder tightly.

"But you could be. If you want out too. We get out together, Carrie?" He moved his other hand to caress her cheek, and she bent downwards to shyly kiss his hand.

"No, I can't." She pulled away again and snorted. "Marriage is such an outdated institution. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. A person shouldn't have to bind themselves legally to their partner to prove their love or their monogamy."

"Carrie." Quinn tried to interject.

She ignored him and continued. "If you have to marry someone to prove your love then obviously that person doesn't trust you enough to be with you. If your feelings do change and you're married it's a lot more complicated to separate than if you remained unmarried...." She paused for breath but her rant was obviously not over.

"Carrie. Stop! For once in your life you need to listen!" Quinn ordered with barely suppressed frustration and then taking a deep breath to calm himself, continued, "The thing is this is a fucking fairy tale; we have to be married, that's what happens! It was always about us. I'm gonna be King and I want you to be my fucking Queen. Does that make sense?"

"Are you having your first argument?" A familiar voice called from the door. "Only I'm holding this crowd at bay out here for you to have some quality sexy time together, maybe make a cute little baby, and arguing isn't on the plan!"

"Astrid?" Quinn asked.

"Who else?" The Kickass Fairy Queen called back. "Yes, I know you want to get in," she snapped to somebody outside. "I hear you. You have a loud voice! Well?" The last was addressed back into the room.

"No, we are not having an argument!" Carrie retorted somewhat tartily. She turned back to Quinn and smiled sadly. "Maybe I do not want to be alone my whole fucking life."

"Is that a yes, Carrie?" Quinn couldn't believe it as a shattering wave of joy swirled violently within him and washed away his ever present whirlpool of fear of rejection.

She nodded enthusiastically. "I will be a great Queen. I'll be fearless, obsessed, ruthless if I have to be." She hesitated, looked back at him, eyes suddenly moist and shy. "I fucking love you, Quinn!" she confirmed before sniffing, wiping her eyes furtively and smiling. "Now kiss me again before those dimples of yours put in an overtime claim for being overworked!"

"I can't help it," Quinn disclosed as he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. "After years of being unable to smile, I don't seem able to stop!"

It was a long and passionate kiss filled with all the yearning and despair that the previous horrors had brought but also with the hope and love of what the future held in store for them.

"That's better, much more productive!" Astrid breathed. "Wait!" She ordered the growing crowd.

Both Carrie and Quinn were so entranced with each other that neither noticed when Astrid finally lowered her guard and let the tumultuous crowd into the room. They thronged around the dumpster judiciously ignoring the various items of clothing that had been flung over its side during a night of intense passion. (Although one pubescent youth looked ludicrously pleased with himself as he surreptitiously pocketed Carrie's lacy panties when nobody else was looking!)

"Is it true?" King Adal was shouting as he and his guards pushed through the milling crowd. "My beautiful boy is restored to us? Let me through!" He stopped, proudly staring at the dumpster. "Peter, the Trash Prince," he breathed admiringly as Quinn, having pulled himself away from Carrie, peeped over the top, fading lily petals in his tousled hair but his dimpled smile still very much at full power. "You are home, my son." Adal tossed a bag of donuts up to him. "I brought breakfast!"

Quinn caught them but muttered in disappointment, "I would have preferred tuna."

"For breakfast?" Carrie looked unsure. "Are you out of your mind?" She grabbed the donuts out of his hands and started greedily guzzling them. "Christ I'm famished. Must be all that exercise last night!"

But King Adal was not to be put off, his son was home, he would indulge him anything. He clapped his hands. "Get tuna for my son, now!" he ordered. 

"From a can." Quinn put in. "And coffee, lots of coffee!" Carrie, sugary crumbs framing her pretty mouth, was still giving him a disbelieving look.

"Is there anything else you want?" Adal asked.

Carrie pushed aside her dismay and her donuts and laughed loudly. She planted a ravishing sugary sweet kiss on Quinn's receptive lips. "I call this getting what I fucking want!" She pronounced triumphantly and with a cloud of pollen puffing skyward that was enough to start up anyone's hay fever, and the bag of donuts flung away, the pair fell back into the dumpster once more.

Later, when the excitement had died down a little, people had been ushered away, breakfast had been prepared, tuna and all, and Quinn and Carrie were putting their pollen-stained clothes back on, (although Carrie just couldn't seem to find her panties) Quinn, enjoying the idea of no visible panty line, draped his jacket over her shoulders protectively and hugged her close to his chest. 

She smiled up at him and said, "It's fate; our love was made for movie screens."

"I don't believe in fate," he snorted and then flushing self-consciously at his own negativity and the disappointed pout it had brought to Carrie's lips, he continued with characteristic, shy charm. "Well maybe made for TV."

Astrid who was standing by the dumpster, completely ignoring the no smoking laws, having a sneaky cigarette and checking her phone, shook her head and curled her lip in incredulity. "Un-fucking-believable," she muttered knowingly. "For fan fiction, kids, only ever for fan fiction."

 

*************************************************************

 

And so our story is almost finished. The Kingdom of Black Ops was saved, their Prince found and restored to his rightful place in the world and life began to get back to normal. But what happened to our major characters? Well:

Tragically Berenson the Wizard was never reunited with King Adal, the great love of his life; their relationship was just too broken. Although he escaped his captivity, he was given back to the King by Ivan the Terrible Accent in order to ensure his and Queen Alison's own escape. Refusing to see his former love, Adal sent the old wizard to be imprisoned by Haissam Haqqani who it turned out was never really a Jihadist at all but a friend of Adal's all along (who saw that coming!). Berenson became Haqqani's house guest and spent the rest of his life enduring the usual tortures - having shoes thrown at him, witnessing Haqqani making love to any and all of his numerous wives, being attacked by red triangles and having people burst in at inappropriate times when he was reading really important, life-changing letters. Frustrated and disillusioned at the failure of his plotting he put all of his remaining energy into writing his memoirs. They were entitled 'This Close to Painting a Masterpiece' and 'Escape or Die' but following an order from the King no one would publish them and they remain unread to this very day. He died a sad and lonely man never revealing that he had been the anonymous benefactor who had previously gifted young Quinn the Glock and had been keeping him off the unemployment line by giving him work putting sketches in his kill box.

Ivan told Alison that they were returning to the Order of St Lucia in the nearby Banana Joe Republic but instead took her to his friend the famous Irish/Chinese ski racer Wy O'Ming so he could indulge in his passion for slalom. It was far too cold for Alison there and she could find no daiquiri. So, disgruntled and upset, she packed up all of her handbags and left, hoping to walk through the snow to the Banana Joe Republic but in her high heels she didn't get very far. Eventually, cold and miserable, she crawled into the trunk of a car to keep warm. Unfortunately, unknown to her, the car was actually a target on a shooting range. It was riddled with bullets by crazy evangelical gun worshippers and Alison was not seen again.

Max caused a great deal of eyebrow raising when he surprised everyone by announcing one day completely out of the blue. "I am not mute! And furthermore I love Fara the bar maid from the False Glimmer and she is going to marry me!" And she did. Virgil spent some time as chairman of the Hair Club for Men but his follicles weren't in it and he got little satisfaction. So he opened the guest house in Gansa's Folly that he had always talked about, offering great discounts for any woman who could prove she had done her duty and kissed the sleeping Trash Prince. He had a large and returning harem of regular customers especially on the anniversary of the Prince's reawakening when the Kingdom threw a thoroughly top party.

Julia followed in her father's boot steps and became the no nonsense Constable of Gansa's Folly, where she took no crap from anyone. Hussein remained a good man, while Qasim eventually became one. Eden continued as the voluptuous well loved milkmaid and her jugs became legendary throughout the Kingdom. Jonas the Wise was put off making clocks because people said they had no time for him. Eventually he opened a hoody shop. Otto Boring was never heard of again.

John 'I know shit I'm a spy' Redmond gave up his secret service career and his middle names, basically because he didn't really know shit at all. Instead he became the keeper of the Kingdom's wine cellars. He was very rarely seen outside his area of responsibility and had a red nose and a constant satisfied, if slightly bemused, smile on his face plus hiccups when he did venture out.

There were many rumours of Sir Brody the Red's existence which regularly spread through the Kingdom but he never did turn up again. Some said he had travelled far away and earned a fortune, indeed Billions, elsewhere.

Bibi and Aziz, the Jihadists, opened their own plumbing business but quickly went bankrupt as nobody trusted them to get the pipes right; they were always 15 centimetres too short. Roya Hammand sneaked into the castle after Queen Alison had scarpered and helped herself to what remained in the wardrobes. She then used these to land a job as the well-groomed news anchor on the Good Morning Black Ops Kingdom daily TV show. Unfortunately she was fired pretty quickly though as it was a live show and she kept speaking Arabic when she got angry.

Aasar Khan changed his name back to his father's because now he most certainly could. He became First Knight of the Kingdom and fought a long side King Peter, who as he had promised modernised the Knight Equality legislation. Many years later Aasar returned to his own lands and married a sweet, demure young lady called Tasneem Qureshi.

Lockhart remained Chief Wizard not because he was the most competent at the job but because, with the death of Estes and the banishment of Berenson, he was the only one qualified to do it. He took full credit for waking Prince Peter, of course. He fancied himself as a scholar and wrote many dissertations on 'Why the 'What the Fuck, What the Fucking Fuck Spell' was the Most Powerful Spell Ever Cast', completely ignoring the fact that it had never actually worked at all. Years later when King Peter introduced the democratic process to the Black Ops Kingdom, Lockhart was the first person to be voted into office because nobody else could be bothered to stand against him. His wife took over Lesli Linka Platters serving only lasagna and made a fortune.

King Adal was completely overwhelmed by the return of his only son. He stayed on the throne to transfer the power to the Prince but his heart was not really in it. The poor man never recovered from the betrayal of his OTP, Berenson the Wizard, and as soon as he could abdicated in favour of his son. He retired to the Monastery of the Holy Order for the Advancement of Donuts and devoted the rest of his life to spreading the word. He regularly appeared at the Palace with donuts and other cakes in hand to give to his son (but never waffles because of Peter's unfortunate, less than diplomatic but somewhat refreshing, habit of slamming dumbass' faces into them). He constantly fussed that Peter didn't get enough to eat.

Prince Peter bought Astrid, the Kickass Fairy Queen, a brand new VW in thanks for her services to him over the years. VW swore that it had passed its emissions test and being a well-respected, successful, global company, they wouldn't lie about something like that, would they? However if did still appear in a puff of choking, throat-clutching black smoke. Her work done in Black Ops Astrid returned to Crackers, the capital of her fairy kingdom of BND where she finally married her betrothed Prince, Legolas of the Woodland Realm (elves, fairies ....it's really all the same thing, isn't it?!) People constantly remarked on her new husband's resemblance to Prince Peter but Astrid and indeed Quinn himself, just couldn't see it.

Carrie married her Trash Prince. Their wedding was the greatest party the Black Ops Kingdom had ever seen, with all those willing ladies from near and far (taking advantage of the very competitive rates at Virgil's Guest House) returning to let their hair down, be it ginger, a wig or whatever! Carrie kept herself well medicated but every so often requested that Peter wore a ginger wig (she had a stash she inherited from her Aunt Bader Meinhof) when they made love. He, being a confident, content in his own skin guy was not in the least bit intimidated by her request, and, of course complied.

After his father's abdication Quinn became King Peter. Still not one for words, he was, however, a just and courageous leader. He and Carrie together planned the war against the remaining Jihadists. He hit reset and bombed their forces into a parking lot (though not when Astrid's new VW was parked there!) but also sent doctors and elementary school teachers thus releasing the Black Ops Kingdom from the terrorist threat of the Caley Fete forever. 

Somewhat surprisingly neither Peter nor Carrie fucked up their relationship although they did get perilously close to doing so on a number of occasions. The passion between them was always fiery and intense. In their early days together Quinn did try to call her out for her attraction to red haired men, and even passed a law that said all gingers must dye their hair black immediately. In response Carrie blasted him whenever he leapt into the garbage. She also refused point blank to call him King Peter, your Majesty or anything else except Quinn. But he always wore the ginger wig for love making when she asked and she always accompanied him to the dumpster for a wallow in the trash in the secrecy of their own castle when requested to. And no matter what tension simmered between them they always had each other's back.

In fact the Royal couple never did manage to quit their particular conditions, they never became 'normal' but it did not matter because they learned to live with their addictions and weaknesses and indeed they both actually came to realise that they loved each other all the more because of them. 

They (take note Gansa) proved themselves more than fit to be parents, having many little Trash Princes and Princesses (none with ginger hair though!) to fulfil King Adal's wish and ensure the continuing existence of the Royal line of the Black Ops Kingdom.

And, of course, they all lived happily ever after.

 

The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My work here is done!


End file.
